Not About Angels
by midaswhale
Summary: Heather Coleman loses many things on that beach in Cuba. And while she expected the grief that would follow, she never expected to gain anything. Especially something precious.
1. Chapter 1

"Raven, Heather, stop!"

"I'm going to help them," Raven snapped, but Charles replied, "We don't have time for this. If anything comes in that entrance, you're taking care of it, yes?" Raven's shoulders sagged when she agreed, while the ringing intensified so much that Heather couldn't help but let out a sharp breath, nodding submissively.

She could barely remember what Charles had even said, as she leaned against the wall of the plane, pressing the palm of her hand against her forehead. God, her head felt like it was going to explode, making her face scrunch up in pain.

She didn't hear Raven ask if she was okay, only hearing muffled words, each spoken as if they were underwater. Raven was out of the plane before Heather even had the strength to choke out the word, "No."

Heather was surprised that Moira or Charles hadn't noticed Raven's absence or her current position because, hell, they were doing a terrible job at guarding the entrance.

She could hear Charles' voice, no doubt guiding Erik through the submarine, and heard as the sound of it became more and more frantic, until she heard, "He's gone." He who? Heather thought to herself, What had happened? Had Erik been unable to locate Shaw? Or had Erik disappeared?

Or had something happened to the other boys?

Her thoughts were halted when Charles shouted out in excitement, "He's back!" Followed by some quickly spoken words that Heather failed to concencrate on. Her head was beginning to feel better - and by better, she meant her head was a little more clear than before and she could stand up without wanting to fall down. She could hear Charles talking again, as she made her way towards where he and Moira were looking out of a window.

Charles' words became franatic again, before he cried out, slamming his head against the wall, "Don't do this, Erik!" Heather's stomach dropped and her heart sank. No, Erik would never betray them, he couldn't, he wouldn't, he just - Heather was so confused, her head hurt, she just wanted to throw up and pass out and go home, she just wanted this to be over, she just wanted everyone to be fine -

The pain and the ringing were gone within a wink, leaving her dizzy and light headed from the sheer shock of it, but she didn't care about because oh god, she knew. She just knew.

Someone had died.

Before she could help herself or control her grief in any way, she let out a wail - a wail that was matched by a scream from Charles. She didn't care who heard her, for god's sake, someone was dead. Someone - maybe one of her friends - was dead. Oh god, it had been the one thing she had never wanted to happen. There was the chance that it had been Shaw or one of his minions, but at that moment, Heather didn't care because no matter who it was, she could feel their loss, the emptiness that had occupied their place in the world.

"Heather!"

Charles' voice was shaky, watery, like he was already close to tears. Heather opened her eyes, blinking a few times to clear away her own tears, before feeling two sets of hands pull her towards the entrance.

When they made it out, the other two paused and stiffened, their hands releasing her. Heather looked up to see what had stopped them before instantly regretting it. Shaw - or his lifeless body, for that matter - was floating with his arms outward and head bowed, in such a way that Heather almost knew her Christian grandmother - had she been there - would have done the sign of the cross and passed out.

But Heather felt sick when she looked further - Erik followed the body, his face almost unrecognizable, with Shaw's helmet sitting on top of his head.

"Today, our fighting stops!" Erik announced, his voice loud and clear, as Shaw's body fall to the ground with Erik gracefully landing, "Take off your blinders, brothers and sisters. The real enemy is out there." He pointed towards the ships out at sea, as he made his way through the groups, his voice sounding more and more like a preacher. "I feel their guns moving in the water, their metal targeting us. Americans, Soviets, humans. United in their fear of the unknown. The Neanderthal is running scared, my fellow mutants!"

Charles moved towards him, cautiously, and Heather wanted nothing more than to beg, beg for Erik to stop this, but she couldn't do anything but move towards the rest of the group, slowly, as if she was the walking dead. She had so many thoughts, so many things she needed to say, but she couldn't. She was - she was so confused, so hurt, and so speechless.

"Go ahead, Charles," Erik commented, "Tell me I'm wrong."

Charles put his fingers to his temple, eyes sweeping out to the waters. His hand fell almost a second later and he looked over the group, his eyes filled with helplessness. Moira sprung up and ran back towards the plane, no doubt to try and call off the attack, and Heather let herself believe she could - let herself believe that they'd all leave the beach, alive and well.

But there were several loud booms, each followed with its own puff of dark smoke, and Heather's head whipped from where she had been watching the plane to the sky, where thousands of missiles were traveling towards them.

This was it.

This was where it ended.

When Heather imagined her death, she had always imagined passing away in her sleep or on a death bed with a couple of her own kids beside her, comforting her. Being hit with a missile? Now, that one never really crossed her mind.

Luckily, to Heather's shock and relief, Erik's hand flew out, stopping the missiles and all of their early deaths in the process. But it was too good to be true - the missiles slowly began to turn themselves around, facing back at the humans.

The feeling of wanting to hurl returned quickly.

Erik was going to kill them.

Oh god, he was going to kill the soldiers.

"Erik, you said yourself," Charles quickly said, his voice cracking slightly with emotion, "We're the better men. This is the time to prove it. There are thousands of men on those ships. Good, honest, innocent men! They're just following orders."

There was a silence, before Erik responded, his hard voice sealing all of their fates. "I've been at the mercy of men just following orders," Erik looked at Charles, his voice turning harsh, "Never again."

And with a thrust of his hand, the missiles flew forward, back towards the ships.

"Erik, release them!"

Erik paid no attention to Charles, instead staying in control of missiles, concencrating on them making to and hitting their targets. "No!" Charles cried out, racing towards Erik and throwing himself at the older man, sending them both to the ground. The blow made Erik lose control of the missiles, sending both of them crashing downwards and exploding.

"I don't want to hurt you. Don't make me!" Erik claimed before elbowing Charles in the face. Heather, the group along side of her, rushed forward to help, but Erik's head whipped around, throwing his hand out and yelling "Stand back!"

The boys went flying while Raven and Heather, surprisingly, stayed where they were.

Erik regained control of the missiles that remained, as he continued to hold a struggling Charles down. The older man slapped Charles across the face, before standing in an attempt to get better control over the few remaining missiles.

Suddenly, there was the sound of a bullet hitting something metal.

Instinitively, Heather ducked, throwing her arms over her head - a habit she had learned after her brother returned from war. But she watched closely as Moira walked towards Erik, shooting rounds as Erik tried to deflect them.

In a split second, a carelessly deflected bullet was sent towards Charles, hitting him in the lower back. The world seemed to slow down, as Charles let out a blood curtingly scream and Heather watched the scene unfold in horror.

The man collapsed and Erik rushed to his side, moving him so that he was laying in his arms. Heather heard the remaining missiles explode mid air but she didn't pay them any attention because - because Charles had been shot, Charles was hurt, Charles was going to bleed out on some beach in Cuba.

Erik apologized, before yelling at the approaching group, "I said back off!" and turning his angry gaze at Moira, his face hardening almost instantly. "You," he nearly hissed, "You did this."

The dog tag around Moira's throat tightened and tightened, until Moira was gagging and choking, her brown eyes wide with horror as she tried desperately to pull it off. "Erik, please," Charles gasped out, "She didn't do this. You did." Erik's head whipped down to look at Charles in bewilderment, before letting Moira's metal chain go, allowing the woman to breathe.

"Us turning on each other," Erik explained in a gruff voice, "It's what they want. I tried to warn you, Charles. I want you by my side. We're brothers, you and I. All of us together, protecting each other. We want the same thing."

Charles let out a sad, sad laugh. "My friend. I'm sorry, but we do not." Something about Erik's body language changed then - he seemed less open, less soft or gentle, more harsh and more like - like what Heather could happen Shaw had been like. He looked up and motioned for Moira to come towards them, who then rushed to the man's side, apologizing frantically the whole time, while Erik rose from his spot.

"This society won't accept us," Erik claimed, motioning towards the crippled form of Charles in Moira's arms, "We form our own. The humans have played their hand. Now we get ready to play ours. Who's with me?" There was a collective silence throughout the group, as Sean looked down and Raven fidgeted nervously beside Heather. She didn't - Heather didn't know what to do. She didn't hate humans. Her parents, her brother, her family had been humans. Joey was a human. But - the humans had tried kill them. But they were scared. Millions of thoughts ran through her mind, weighing the options before her - staying with Charles and losing Erik or going with Erik and losing the only mutant friends she'd known.

Erik looked between her and Raven, his eyes finally settling on the blue girl beside her, raising his hand towards her. "No more hiding." To Heather's surprise, Raven stepped forward slowly at first before striding over towards him, carefully avoiding the fallen trees. Heather looked between the three boys beside them - each with their own look of confusion and sorrow. Raven was leaving them.

But Raven, of course, managed to surprise her again, by instead kneeling down beside her brother. Erik's face dropped then and looked back over at them, his eyes catching Heather's. Her palms were sweaty, her stomach was doing somersaults, she was already crying as it was and she just wanted Erik to stop this whole mess, for them all to take Charles to a damn hospital and forget this ever happened. She had never wanted to make this type of decision.

She could hear Raven speaking to Charles, but she didn't pay attention to that - only focusing on the stiffness of Hank beside her, as he waited for her answer, and how expecting Erik looked.

"Please," Heather finally managed to choke out, her voice cracking as she shook her head slowly, "Please, don't make me do this."

Heather could see from where she was how Erik's face softened at that, his mouth opening to say something, when Raven interrupted by saying, "Take care of him."

No.

No. No. No -

Raven stood, taking Erik's hand, and Heather wanted to scream for fucking best friend to not leave her - leave her like everything in the damn world seemed to do - but she couldn't. Instead, she bit her lip, holding back any cries or wails, and watched the three other mutants walk towards Erik and Raven, grabbing a hold of each other's hands.

"And Beast!"

"Never forget. Mutant and proud."

Hank flinched at those words, his furry nose drawing up in disgust. Raven looked at Heather, giving her a small smile, almost as if to reassure her that everything was going to be alright. Erik turned to nod at the red mutant and before their eyes, in a puff of smoke, they were gone.

Heather wanted to fall her knees and never move again - she had been abandoned, she had been abandoned again - but instead, she found herself sprinting towards where Charles was laying, her entire form numb as she kneeled down beside him, listening as the others tried to calm a struggling Charles down. "Actually," Charles panted, "I - I can't feel my legs."

The world just kept crashing down around Heather. "What?" Heather whispered, her voice feeling like being too loud would shatter the moment. "I can't feel my legs," Charles repeated, louder and clearer this time. The group all looked at each other with helplessness because - because the humans knew about mutants and now saw them as threats, their leader was paralyzed and bleeding, they were on some beach in Cuba with no way of getting home, and they had just lost two of their members - two of their friends.

And the world was never going to be the same, ever again.

A/N: Guess who finally got inspired to write this damn story?

This girl.

Originally I wanted to write Calling All Angels first, but as I was planning it, well, that's just say I got up to Chapter 28 and thought "hm, maybe I should get the shorter story out of the way".

So here it is.

This chapter picks up from the middle of Chapter 11 and is basically a big "what if Heather never went after Erik?" This, until like No Angels, is not a fix it fanfic and it is going to involve a lot of darker materials like depression, alcoholic, drug use, abandonment and (not to completely spoil the next few chapters) unplanned pregnancy.

I'll try to make sure I put a trigger warning for anything too bad, but if I forget to, just message me or leave a comment/review.

Anyway, this chapter sucks and I'm sorry. I also don't know how I feel about the summary. I may change it, I don't know.


	2. Chapter 2

It took them a good hour and a half to make their way through a damp, buggy jungle, with Alex and Sean running ahead of them and scouting the area - looking for any sign of a village or hospital. Hank carried a limp seeming Charles - the only sign of life from the man being his occasional sharp gasps or soft groans. They took a few breaks, when the heat of the jungle and the burning sun became too much for them to bare, but they pushed on, hurrying through the trees, trying to clear the path for Hank.

When they finally Santiago de Cuba, they were all drenched in sweat - especially Hank, whose blue fur seemed more like a slick, navy color. Sean and Alex took a breather, before continuing on their mission to find a hospital. "Hank," Heather stopped him, a thought coming to her, "Hank, Charles isn't strong enough to make an illusion over you."

Hank gave her a sharp look. "Are you embarrassed of me or something?"

Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the lack of sleep or dehydration, or maybe the fact that her friends had gone off and left her - either way - Heather snapped at the man. "I was more worried of the fact that you'd be embarrassed. Or that the nurses wouldn't want to treat someone dropped off by a mutated ape." Hank's eyes widened and Heather's stomached dropped, weighed down by guilt, but she didn't apologize - instead she watched the shapes of the two boys running back towards them.

"Hospital," Sean gasped, "It's - that - way."

"There," Hank said, standing Charles up - who swayed and hissed at the sudden movement - as carefully as he could. Moira put one of Charles' arms around her shoulder, Heather with the other arm, before she glanced over at Hank. She opened her mouth to say something - an apology maybe - but Hank was gone, hiding back into the jungle.

Great. Just - great.

Heather felt like a proper asshole.

* * *

The hospital was small, with chips of paint coming off of the sides and old, dirty looking shutters covering the windows, but Heather couldn't be picky with her choice of hospital at the moment. As Sean and Alex pushed open the door, she repeated the words she needed to say in her head - the words she'd learned from her Spanish neighbor only a year ago.

The eyes of the nurses flew to the group, said eyes widening at the state of their appearances. Heather gulped, before begging, "Por favor. Necesita ayuda. Por favor."

The tw0 nurses sprung up like they'd been shocked, running over to Charles, while a third hurried and grabbed a stretcher from behind the desk, wheeling it towards them. They told Charles from her and Moira, laying him carefully on his side, before they began talking, asking what was wrong. But Heather couldn't understand, she knew only so many Spanish words, and the women were looking at her expectantly - so she quickly pointed to the small of her back.

One of the nurses, understanding, ran her hand gently along Charles' back and his face scrunched up. The nurse pulled her hand away, the skin covered in blood, and she looked up quickly to her co workers, before shouting for a doctor. They quickly pushed the stretcher carrying Charles through a set of double doors and a silence flew over the group.

They brought off and did their own things - a nurse brought them water from a well and they all drank greedily, with Alex going out and bringing Hank some. Sean curled up on the couch and napped, while Moira began calling people to try and find them a way home. Her voice raised a few times and each time she slammed the phone back onto the jack, her shoulders sagged a little bit more.

After about the twentieth time, Heather finally stood from her spot and made her way over. "Any success?"

Moira sighed deeply, rubbing her forehead. "No, none at all."

Maybe it was time to call Joey. "I - I have someone in Washington DC. I could try and see - " Moira sighed again, scooting loudly away from the desk, "Be my guest. Because nothing I have is working. You may as well try."

As Moira went over to where Sean was sleeping, Heather looked back at the phone, her eyes suddenly blurry. She felt like a little kid, telling her mother or father after she did something wrong, something bad, and she just knew that they'd be mad, disappointed, would say I told you so. She dialed the number carefully and held the phone to her ear, trying to keep the tears at bay.

But the minute she heard, "Moran." The pressures, the failures and the pain of that day just came rushing at her and she burst into tears. "Joey," she choked out. "Heather?" Joey's voice was panicked, "Jesus, Heather, what's wrong? Heather, are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm not," Heather sobbed, trying so hard to keep it in, but she just couldn't, she had held too much in already, "I - I'm not the one that's hurt. I need your help, Joey. My friends - my friends and I are stuck in Cuba. One of us - he got shot." Heather stopped, her hands shaking so bad. "He's hurt really bad and w - we haven't met anyone that can speak English and we don't know if he's okay and - and we need your help."

"Heather, listen to me," Joey's voice was concerned, stern and protective all rolled up into one, "I have a friend - Cedro - who lives down there. Where are you?"

"Santiago de Cuba."

"Alright. I'll call him up and tell him to get his ass there."

Heather nodded, despite Joey not being able to see her. "Heather, everything's going to be okay. I wouldn't let anyone hurt you. But I want to know everything, and I meant everything, when you come home." Heather wiped her eyes, feeling slightly embarrassed from her break down, before saying, "Okay, I promise."

"Alright, I'm going to call him. Just stay where you are."

"Okay."

The call went dead and Heather clutched the phone like it was her life line.

* * *

An hour later, a short but chubby man arrived in the hospital, pushing his sweaty hair back with a rather large hand, as his eyes gazed over the group. "Which one of you is Heather?" The man asked in a heavily accented voice. Heather's eyes widened, as everyone else whipped around to look at her. She stood then, answering loudly, "I am."

The man gave a small smile. "I am Cedro. Joey sent me."

Heather breathed out a sigh of relief, before a nurse - noticing the newcomer - came over to greet him. The two spoke for a minute, before Cedro's face became grim and nodded, the woman leaving them to her place at the desk. "So?" Alex prompted, looking ready to jump out of his chair. "Your friends needs a complicated surgery." Cedro explained slowly, "They performed one to stop the bleeding, but they can't repair the nerves or tissue here. They don't have enough resources. We need to get him to America so that he can have the surgery."

"What about walking?" Moira questioned anxiously, "He - He said he couldn't feel his legs. Is he - "

"They will not know until the other surgery is performed." Before any of them could say anything - or even react - the nurse stood suddenly, motioning them towards the double doors Charles had gone through only hours before. "Come, we need to get him to my plane. And quickly."

Charles slept through the entire plane ride, the drugs that the doctor had given him working like a charm. The others stayed silent the entire time, as if a single word would cause all hell to break loose.

* * *

The doctors told them 10 hours.

10 hours.

A surgery lasting 10 hours was never good.

But Cedro had told them that it was delicate, complicated. So they couldn't really have expected less. It was around 4 pm when they had arrived and the emergency surgery began an hour later. They were all camped out in the waiting room with only a few other people were seated around them - a couple with so much pain in their eyes as they took turns holding a stuffed rabbit and a man with no emotion on his face, as he seat in a corner, his two teenage daughters holding tightly onto each other.

Heather tried not to focus on the families or their suffering for the time being, instead wished with all her might that she didn't meet a toddler or a mother ghost that night. Instead, she used the waiting room phone to call Joey and told him that he should come to the hospital that next morning, as she was too drained to even think about what she had to tell him. So that was decided then.

An hour into the surgery, the group - tired of their disgusting uniforms - decided to send Hank and Heather back to the mansion for the night to grab some of their clothing and get some rest in their own beds. This was mainly decided by the fact that not Sean, Alex or Moira wanted to leave the waiting room even a second, terrified that something would happen and they wouldn't be there.

Not that Heather was complaining. She desperately needed a shower. And to get out of this sticky uniform.

She just wasn't excited about the ride with Hank. Hank - who had been silent since she made the snappy comment to him and had stayed hidden for the entirety of the afternoon and evening.

The first hour or two were awkward. Just plain awkward. Heather tried to find a good song or station to listen to, but she couldn't find anything - and even if she did, she didn't even know if she'd have enough energy to sing along.

Halfway through, Heather finally sighed and told herself screw it. "Look. Hank, I'm sorry. For what I said in Cuba. I was just - god, today just isn't any of our days." Her voice cracked at the end, and she blinked multiple times to try and not cry for once. Hank was silent, his eyes trained on the road ahead, before he mumbled, "It's - it's okay. I'm not - I mean, I was hurt. But I tried not to take it personal."

It was silent for a moment, before Heather blurted out, "If it's any help, I don't really think you're a mutated ape."

Hank laughed at that. Afterwards, the ride wasn't as awkward.

* * *

When they arrived at the mansion, Heather made a B line for the bathroom, making sure to grab a nightgown beforehand. In the warm shower, she scrubbed the day's filth off of her sore body and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. Leaning her head against the cold, tile wall, her thoughts wondered off to Erik and Raven. Were they okay? Did they even miss them?

Heather only stayed in the shower for a short time after that, and tried desperately to turn off any thoughts of the two. They had left. They had chosen their path. There wasn't anything Heather could do. But that didn't stop her from wanting them to just come home.

It wasn't that simple though.

Heather tucked herself in under her fluffy covers, her wet hair tickling her face and soaking her pillow, as she tried to fall asleep. But just as she was finally dozing off, she heard one of her windows squeak continuously as if -

\- As if it was being opened.

She heard the something land rather softly on the ground in front of her bed and Heather's heart was beating so fast, but she didn't dare open her eyes. Great. She had survived the whole mess in Cuba, only to be killed by a burglar. Just great. Now Hank was going to find her body and everyone was going to be sad and Erik and Raven wouldn't even know -

"Heather."

That little shit.


	3. Chapter 3

Heather gripped her bed sheets tightly in her fists, as she sat up to face - him. She had spent the whole day missing Erik and wishing he'd just come home, and now, now that he was standing in front of her - dressed in some sort of maroon suit, complete with a helmet and, for god's sake, a cape - she wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face.

"You - "

" - Heather - "

" - bastard, I swear - "

" - Heather, please."

"You," Heather couldn't get the right words out, she was so angry and so frustrated, she wanted to hug him and throw him down a flight of stairs and have a responsible, adult conversation with him - all at the same time. So, instead, she decided that the next logical idea was to go with her original plan and punch him in the face.

Heather threw her covers off of her body before charging at the older man, cursing him out the whole time. "You fucking asshole, you fucking left, you fucking left us," she hissed out, but before she could take her first swing, Erik's hands wrapped around her wrists, holding them against his chest while she continued to struggle.

"Heather, just - "

" - Fuck you! I'm done - I'm done missing you, it's not worth it anymore! You're just a stupid - "

" - Heather!"

Erik's yell quieted the younger girl, her brown eyes widening as she continued to look up at him. "Why did you come here?" She asked, her voice soft and shaky, and Erik let out a sigh, his hands remaining on her wrists. "I wanted to see if you wished to join Raven and I."

Heather couldn't breathe.

"When I asked - you were still in shock from what happened, I saw that, and the others were there. I thought maybe being alone, you'd feel more comfortable revealing your real feelings." Heather stared at Erik for a moment, before commenting, "Erik, I don't - I don't hate humans like you do. My - my parents were human, my - Joey is a human. I wouldn't be able to kill one if I knew they were innocent."

"What if they tried to kill you first?"

"That - that's a different thing entirely. Erik, I told you not to make me choose."

"We all have to make tough choices sometimes."

There was something different, something darker, in Erik's voice and tone that make Heather want to struggle away from him again. "It was never my intention to hurt you, Heather," Erik added, "But there's a war coming. And you need to make sure you're on the right side. Because I'd rather not see you dead."

Heather winced at that and looked away from his eyes, dropping her gaze instead to her trapped hands. "I can't," she finally responded, her voice sounding so tiny and broken, "I can't leave. Charles - Charles is hurt really bad, Erik."

"How is he?" Erik asked quickly, his voice sounding almost - like usual, concerned mostly. Heather paused, before explaining, "He's in surgery still. They - they don't really think he'll ever walk again, but it all depends on how much they can fix." Erik stiffened at that, and Heather quickly added, "I'm sorry," to which Erik sighed, "No, it's - I should be the one apologizing. After all, he blames me for that human - "

" - Erik."

There was silence in the room after that, before Erik finally spoke up, "Tonight is the only night I will come back here. I need to know for certain."

Heather tried to will her tears away, but they overflowed anyway, dripping down her cheeks and off her jaw. "No," she choked out, "I can't." One of Erik's hands let her wrist go, instead reaching to wipe the tears from underneath her eyes, his gentle voice coming back with a quiet, "Don't cry, please, don't cry."

"How may I not supposed to cry?" Heather sobbed, "I'm losing Raven and you. You - you two were my friends."

She'd never expected it to end this way. Maybe, somewhere in her mind, in the portion that loved to make ridiculously happy fantasies, she imagined them being friends for life, with maybe even her and Erik becoming an item over the course of time. And while she would have never admitted to the idea or the feelings that had slowly begun to blossom, she had hold them close to her, thinking it's always a possibility. But now - it wasn't going to be a possibility anymore.

Erik pressed his lips against her cheek, his red hot lips leaving her skin feeling burned, before he finally released her other wrist and began to pull away from her.

No. Heather was panicking, Heather was - she couldn't lose him. Not again.

While trying to desperately think of something to say, something to keep him there, part of Heather saw the romantic part in this whole mess and thought 'you'll never see him again, take the chance, do it.' And Heather, being the person she was, sprung forward and slammed her lips against Erik's. She hadn't really expected it herself and when he didn't kiss back after the first seven seconds, she felt like crawling under a rock and waiting out the rest of her days there. Heather began to pull away from the awkward closed mouth kiss, before a hand slowly crept its way to her neck, pulling her back into the kiss.

It was better after that - with Erik taking over. Their lips glided smoothly over each other, and Heather found that Erik's lips were extremely warm and soft, something she'd never really expected. The kiss, while rather passionate, was filled with sadness and longing, almost like they were saying their goodbyes with the kiss, trying to get out all of their regrets, all of their words.

Heather's arms wrapped around Erik's neck, slipping her fingers under the cold, metal helmet to run her fingertips along the baby hairs there. While she was tilting her head, however, her cheek came in contact with the sharp edge of the helmet and she gasped, pulling one hand away to run along her skin, making sure the damn thing hadn't cut her.

Erik quickly tossed the thing off of his head, the helmet landing with a rather loud thud!, before looking back at Heather and asking, his voice breathy, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Heather answered, panting slightly, before tilting her face towards him, "Did it cut me?"

"No."

"You sure? It hurt like a son of a bitch."

Erik laughed at that, before placing his hands on her hips, and Heather would have been self conscious of the extra weight on her hips if it wasn't for how big Erik's hands were and just how much she wanted them - everywhere. "Do you want this?" Erik asked. "I want it," Heather responded, though part of her knew she was just going to end up being hurt worse when he left. When Erik opened his mouth, as if to protest, Heather shushed him. "I - I don't want think about anything but right now. Just - please."

Erik gave her a concerned look before nodding and removing his cape rather gracefully, making his way to lay down in the middle of her bed, leaning against the headboard. Looking over her disheveled appearance from where he was, his eyes darkened and he motioned for her to come to him.

And she didn't even hesitate.

* * *

"Heather, are you ready to go?"

Heather jumped in her bed, eyes blinking open slowly as she lifted her head from her pillow. A loud knock came from the other side of the door, and Hank spoke once more. "Heather? Are you awake?"

"Yeah," she called out, coughing in an attempt to clear her throat, "I'm up, just - " She let out a long yawn, before continuing, " - gimme a minute or two." Heather rolled on her back, covering herself with the blanket before hissing in discomfort as she quickly took notice to how sore she was. She also took notice to the fact that Erik was no where to be found.

No note.

No sign that had ever even been there.

If it wasn't for the whole nakedness or soreness, she wouldn't have believed he was even here.

Heather didn't know why she thought he would have stayed, as if having sex with her would have suddenly made him not hate humans or want to come home. She had given herself to a man that probably didn't even want her to start off with, and that - that made her feel dirty and sick, like all she wanted to do was crawl in the shower and never leave.

* * *

(A/N: As you can tell, I've never been kissed/written a very good kissing scene, so sorry about that. Also to the people that don't like Erik/Heather together, oops.)


	4. Chapter 4

"Heather? You okay?"

Heather looked up from her untouched plate - the syrup soaked waffles and unused silverware - and sighed at Joey's concerned expression. "I - I'm just not hungry." In fact, the sight of the food almost made her skin crawl. She didn't want to eat - she wanted to crawl back into her bed, burrow deep in her blankets and never surface again. But that wasn't an option. Especially now.

"No, it's fine. More for me." Joey reached over the table, stabbing the waffle with his fork and carrying it off. Taking a big bite, he gulped before asking, "So, how's Charles?"

Heather paused, not even knowing where to start. When Hank and she had arrived back at the hospital, Moira had been waiting for them with news. She had explained that Charles' surgery hadn't taken up the full 10 hour span, and he had been sent to the recovery room almost 3 hours ahead of schedule. When they had entered the room to talk to the man, he was sleepy, his blue eyes drooping and his voice slow, but there was a soft smile on his face and Heather - Heather let herself believe everything was going to be okay.

That was when the doctor had pulled them all out of the room to explain.

"...we could fix the spine..."

"...we couldn't fix the spinal cord..."

"...never walk again..."

Heather had never felt so numb in her life.

She stayed quiet for a moment, before replying slowly, hoping her voice wouldn't crack, "He - he looked good. When I saw him." Joey nodded thoughtfully at that, before asking, "What'd the doc say?" Another pause. Heather tried to breathe, but the air felt heavy, too heavy for her lungs. "He can't walk," she finally choked out.

"Jesus - "

"Let's just - not talk about it, okay?"

Joey nodded at that, and Heather couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. There was silence at their table as Joey finished his waffle and Heather finally took a sip of the coffee before her, the drink doing nothing to warm the numbness inside of her. "Now," Joey finally said, "Are you going to explain what's going on? Why were you in Cuba? Who's Erik? What exactly happened to Charles? Why are you acting so weird?"

With each question, Heather sunk farther into her chair, hoping that maybe she could disappear and avoid this conversation altogether. No luck there, as Joey was watching her like a hawk. She sighed, sitting back up, her hands nervously twisting her skirt. "You see - " She began, before trying to rethink her words. "I - There's this thing - Have you ever heard of mutants?"

Joey's eyebrows furrowed together. "Mutants?"

"People with - "

" - with mutations, yeah, yeah, I know, but what do they have to do with this?"

Heather took a deep breath, telling herself it was now or never. "I'm a mutant, Joey. And so is Charles and - and Erik." Even saying his name hurt. Joey blinked a few times, his green eyes widening, before he looked around quickly and leaned over. "You're serious?" He whispered, and Heather nodded.

"Heather, that - that's great! I wish you would have told me before, I mean, I wouldn't have been much help figuring it all out, but I guess I would have been more understanding. So - do you, like, spit fire or move stuff with your mind?"

Heather let out a loud laugh at that. "No, no, I just see dead people." Joey's eyes widened again. "Woah. That's - well, actually, that kind of makes sense. That explains the times I'd hear you talking to yourself." Heather blushed in embarrassment at that because - oh god, he probably thought she was insane for a long time - before shaking her head wildly. "Okay, okay, let's - just get off of that subject."

Glancing at the man, she noticed how he squirmed in his chair, looking a little paler than before. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just - "

" - Joey, tell me - "

" - I don't know if I - "

" - Joey."

Joey looked at her, his eyes looking more and more panicked. He glanced around again, as if there was someone - something - that could help himself out of this conversation, but, finding nothing, he sighed. "The CIA and FBI are working together to investigate what happened in Cuba with the - mutants."

This defiantly shocked Heather. "But they never get along. They hate each other."

"Exactly. But they, uh, keep saying things like 'we need to work together against a mutual enemy.'" Heather stared at Joey, unable to even process what he had said. A mutual enemy. Did the government really see them as threats? Alright, so maybe some of them did have rather destructive powers, but they - at least most of them - weren't trying to hurt others. "So what are they going to do?"

"I really don't know, Heather. They - they've been having meetings for the last two days, talking about what they should do. If we should - " Joey paused, his eyes leaving her's and instead focusing on the table cloth. Heather's hands tightened their grip on her skirt. "Should what?" She questioned firmly. Joey stayed silent, and after a second, Heather leaned forward, deciding to press him for answers. "What is it, Joey?"

"If - if we should consider mutants as a threat. And then if we come to that conclusion, if we should - destroy the threat."

* * *

They spend another two weeks at the hospital in DC - with Joey bringing them fast food and running up to the mansion to grab extra changes of clothes for them all, while the rest of them stood by Charles' bedside, helping him sit up and watching as the therapist taught him how to work the wheelchair.

By the time they were told that Charles could go home, Heather didn't even know if she could wash the sterile smell from her clothes or body. The smell clung to each of them - a constant remainder of where they had been and what had happened - and Heather wanted nothing more than to take a shower with soap that hadn't been borrowed from the hospital or hotel.

It was a sunny November day, the air crisp and clean, when they finally were able to wheel Charles outside of the hospital. The man winced at the brightness, bringing his hand up to shield his eyes, but his face softened, a smile findings its way onto his face. They all helped him into the van, while Joey put the wheelchair in the back, instructing Alex on how to put it back together when they got to Westchester.

Once everything was loaded up, Joey came the passenger window, where Heather was sitting, and leaned in. "Remember," he said, "If you need anything at all, just call. I'll try to keep you updated about - about everything." Heather nodded, "I will. Just be careful, Joey." Hank started the engine, before thanking Joey, an action that was followed by the others quickly adding their own thanks.

The house was defiantly not built for wheelchairs - they had to carry Charles up the front stairs, had to carry him up the stairs to his room, had to push valuable vases and plants out of his path just so he wouldn't run into anything. It was hard to adjust to at first, the fact that their friend was now paralyzed and their life seemed - at least at that very moment - to revolve around making sure he didn't accidentally hurt himself.

The boys tried to make do, however. Alex and Sean spent a whole day, building ramps for the smaller sets of stairs throughout the house - it shouldn't have taken a day but they hadn't exactly known how to build ramps at the beginning and after several trips to the lumberyard, many slivers, and a lot of broken nails, their wooden ramps were a work of art.

Hank even talked to Charles about adding an elevator into the home, just to make things easier, but Heather didn't think that was going to take off very soon, as Hank seemed engrossed in another project altogether - adding something to the house called Cerebro. Heather didn't understand it, but the boys seemed to, so she didn't really question it.

Moira spent most of her days out walking with Charles, claiming that he needed to get some more sun, that he looked paler than a ghost. Heather noticed how close the two were, the way Moira looked at Charles, and something about it made her uneasy - maybe it was her bad experience with Erik or maybe it was that she was afraid Moira would tell the CIA all about them.

It was about a week after they returned home that Charles came to Heather with an interesting question.

"You - you want to start a school?"

"For mutants."

"For mutants," Heather repeated, taking a sip of her coffee, "Okay, alright. Um, how do we know that it'll work out? Or that we'll find students? Or that any of us are qualified to be a teacher?" Charles hummed, smoothing the blanket that rested over his legs, "That, my friend, is what Cerebro is for. It'll help me find other mutants, ones that are young or need guidance. And, as for the qualification, well, I'm pretty sure the state wouldn't be checking our criteria."

Heather snorted at that, before looking at Charles, his hopeful, tired eyes, and let out a sigh. "Fine, fine, I'll do it."

* * *

Around Thanksgiving, Moira and Charles went out for a walk, with only Charles returning an hour later, his face rather solemn. Heather looked at Sean in confusion, and Sean - dear, dear Sean - whispered, "He didn't, like, kill her, did he?"

"No," Heather gasped, "I mean, at least, I don't think - Well, I don't - Shut up, Sean." He held his hands up in defeat, backing away from her, just as Hank asked slowly, "Charles, where is Moira?" Charles was silent for a while, the others looking at each other, and Heather started to reconsider what Sean had said.

"Gone," he finally responded, his voice soft. "What do you mean gone?" Heather questioned, maybe a little too sharply, as Charles winced, adding, "I sent her away. We couldn't take any risks." His voice was surprisingly empty of emotion, something that she had never heard from Charles, and this - this new side of him was a shock to Heather.

Charles wheeled away then, and the other boys slowly went on with their day - each sad in their own way - while the numbness in Heather returned.

Another friend was gone.

* * *

The week before Christmas, Heather woke up and rolled onto her back, her stomach somersaulting violently, before she sprung up and raced to the bathroom. She was barely able to open the toilet seat before she was throwing up the contents of her stomach.

After that, each morning was similar.

Some mornings were great - no vomiting when she woke up - and she'd go about her day, helping the others design their classrooms, helping Hank with Cerebro and taking Charles for walks, but one wrong smell of food would have her flying to the bathroom in tears.

She had tried to hide it from the boys at first, hoping this bout of stomach flu would just pass, but after a certain incident two days before Christmas - the one that she now referred to as the "we-will-never-talk-about-this" incident or what Sean liked to call it "the-time-Heather-threw-up-on-my-shoes" - she had been forced to explain the whole illness to them.

Hank had taken her temperature and, after confirming it was normal, told her to make an appointment. "You could have picked something up while we were in Cuba," he added, putting the thermometer back into the cabinet and leaving her to the call. As Heather dialed the number, she

silently hoped that the doctor wouldn't be in - it was almost Christmas after all - but luck was not on her side.

The doctor was full for that day, but tomorrow, he claimed, was free. He'd be happy for her to come in.

So that was settled.

Heather sat on the bench, the wax paper crinkling under the butt and her feet swinging like she was a small child. She nervously cracked her knuckles, as the nurse quickly wrote down her height and weight, her blood pressure, and left the room, her red lips curling in a smile as she promised that "the doctor will be right with you".

She turned her attention to the decorations that surrounded her. Most were done by children, each signed in their sprawl, usually with a large thanks! on the side. The red and green of the decorations stood out against the bright, white paint covering the walls, but Heather enjoyed the contrast.

Hearing the door open, Heather's head whipped around and she caught sight of the doctor - a tall, wrinkled man with dark curls and an upturned nose - scrambling something on the clipboard in his hands before looking up at Heather with an easy smile. "So what seems to be the matter today?"

Heather squirmed, watching the doctor pull out the chair beside the desk and take a seat, his eyes focused on her. "Well, I've been throwing up for the past week or so."

"Have you had a fever?"

"No."

The doctor looked curious. "Any other symptoms? Chills, coughing, fainting, aches?"

"No, not - Well, I've been sleeping more lately. And I've, uh, had to pee more if that helps." The man looked thoughtful for a moment, writing something on the paper again, before he questioned her further, "Ma'am, are you sexually active?" Heather's eyes widened and she stuttered, "N-No, well, not really, I just - you see - it was a one time thing." He raised an eyebrow at her and she slouched down, knowing that he was judging her heavily.

"And when was your last menstrual cycle?"

Heather froze. No, there was no way. She couldn't be - She tried to think back to her last period, but everything was so blurry, she'd be taking care of Charles, she didn't really have time to - "Two or three weeks ago," she responded softly, "But - but it was light."

The man hummed, before he instructed her to lay down on her back and lift up her shirt over her stomach. He pressed his cold hands against her stomach, asking each time, "Does it hurt? Is it tender?" Which, yes, it was. She tensed up each time and wanted nothing more the squirm away from his hands, but she let him finish the exam.

"I'll need to take some blood for a lab test," he explained and Heather nodded, the numbness slowly returning. She couldn't be. There was no way. She wasn't ready for this, she wasn't ready for - for a kid.

The needle prick stung and Heather felt the need to vomit once more when she saw the red liquid inside of the small capsule, but she bit her lip, holding it all back, as the doctor explained he would be back and left with her blood. The test took a while, and Heather sat on the bench the entire time, her hands clasped together tightly, as she waited desperately for the results.

When the doctor returned, he closed the door slowly and softly, and took his seat once more at the desk. Heather looked to him anxiously, nearly shaking from fear, her heart pounding so loud she was afraid he could hear it too. "Your results came back," the man commented, his voice calm.

"Congratulations, Miss. Coleman. You're pregnant."

* * *

A/N: This chapter sucks, but I just needed to get it done.

Sorry for the wait, but I moved out of my house and suffered through some major drama thanks to my dad. But I'm back now and that's all that matters.

Now, in this book, I'm actually allowing people to vote on what Heather should have (I have all the genders and names picked out for the kids in Calling All Angels, so this is your only choice) and you can do that by either commenting or voting in the poll I have posted on page. You can also comment a kid's name too if you'd like!

Either way, thanks for the support and for everything!


	5. Chapter 5

**Just a warning for people out there, this chapter has Heather seriously considering an abortion and while she doesn't go through with it, she thinks a lot about it. So possible triggers.**

* * *

Heather sat in her car for a long time after the appointment.

Her hands grasped onto the pamphlets the doctor has handed her - pamphlets about what or what not to do or eat, guides for expectant mothers, complete with pictures of housewives, each with perfectly styled hair and a blinding white smile. The last pamphlet he had given her, he had hesitated at first before slipping the piece of paper into the already growing pile and saying, "Babies are - harder to raise for people like you."

The pamphlet had no smiling housewife. Instead, the front page was covered in big black letters that spelled out ADOPTION: IS IT RIGHT FOR ME?

Heather stared at that pamphlet as the nurses and doctors said goodbye and as she made her way to her car. At that moment, she couldn't even imagine the baby inside of her - let alone giving it up to some stranger. She knew that it would be a better option, the baby would have two lovely parents instead of just one, but - but what if the baby turned out to be a mutant? Considering both she and Erik were mutants, their baby could be one.

What if the people who adopted the baby abused it after finding out? Heather would never be able to forgive herself for that, letting another person go through what she had to as a child.

There was another option to all of this but - it was defiantly frowned upon. Her cousin, Annabelle, had one when Heather was quite young herself but she could still remember Auntie Adelaide screaming her head off at the teen, calling her a whore and a murder and telling her she wasn't part of their family anymore. Annabelle had died less than a month later from a deadly infection caused by the procedure.

But that - that had been 1944. Surely the back alley abortions were safer now. And if not, there was always the wire hangers.

Heather stopped her train of thoughts to wipe her watering eyes and try and calm her breathing. She had never wanted this - to have to sit outside of a doctor's office and decide whether or not to give her baby up or kill it. She didn't want to do either, in fact, she just wanted to go home and lay in bed and forget about this day - forget about the last 3 months.

Heather struck her hands against the steering wheels, finally letting herself sob in pain and anguish over everything that had happened. She was 25, single, and pregnant with a human hating man's child. And she had no idea what to even tell her friends, something that made her cry even harder.

* * *

It took her a while to calm down, but when she finally did, the sun was just beginning set and a few snow flurries were beginning to fall, a light dusting beginning to cover the already snow packed streets. Heather wrapped the scarf around her neck quickly before hurrying out of the car and into the mansion, closing the door behind her slowly, trying to make sure there was no noise.

Maybe she could just sneak into her room and pretend everything was -

"Heather."

But she had no luck. Heather winced, slowly turning to face Charles, who looked up at her in concern. "You were gone an awful long time. Are you alright, my dear?"

Don't cry, Heather told herself, you've cried enough today. She took a deep breath, clasping her shaking hands together, before deciding now or never. "Can we, uh," she mumbled, "Go somewhere private?" Charles looked even more concerned at that, but nodded in agreement before turning around, skillfully avoiding the potted fern, and wheeled himself to his office, with Heather following close behind.

Heather closed the door behind her and tried to think of where she should even start her story. "The night of your surgery, Hank and I came home to get a few things and, uh, Erik was here." Charles had a confused look on his face but his eyes darkened. "Erik and I talked and then we - we - " Just she was about to ask that Charles read her mind for the answer, Charles let out a sharp breath and said, "You didn't."

"I did. I'm sorry, I don't even know what came over me, I just - " She ran her fingers through her hair nervously, before letting out a sigh. "And that - that's not even the worst thing. Charles, I'm pregnant."

There was only silence in the room and Heather glanced at Charles, finding the man frozen where he was, his face completely blank of any emotion. "Charles - "

" - And you're completely sure?"

Heather nodded. "What are you planning to do with - with the baby?" Charles asked, his face still void of emotion, and Heather gulped. "I'm not sure. I'm still - looking at options." Charles nodded at that, before wheeling closer to her. "While I don't necessarily like the circumstances," the man began, "I will, however, support your decision, whatever it may be."

Heather teared up a little at that. May she had been expecting Charles to scream at her, maybe even throw her out. "Thank you," she choked out, before she was bending down to wrap her small arms around the man, who in turn returned the hug. The two hugged for a moment, before Charles pulled away and asked, "Do you want to tell the others?"

She thought about it for a moment, before deciding. "Yeah, yeah, I - I want them to know. But can you help me? I'm not really fond of doing this alone."

"Of course."

* * *

Charles was by her side when she sat the other boys in the sitting room and told them. Her story was a little better this time, if a little awkward when she had to admit that she had had sex with Erik - especially when Hank was in the house with them at the time, something that the man wrinkled his nose at - but when it was over and done with, Sean sat up and claimed, "Well, I always wanted a niece or nephew."

Alex nodded, a soft smile coming to his face. "I can't wait to teach him how to play football."

"How do you know it won't be a girl?" Hank interjected. Alex snorted, rolling his eyes, "That's just my guess, Beastie. I think it'll be a boy."

"Well, I think it'll be a little girl."

"I'm going with Alex on this. 10 bucks, it's a boy."

Oh god, Heather thought, her stomach doing somersaults, they were already placing bets on the gender of the baby. And while she was comforted that they were so excited, Heather still wasn't sure she was even keeping it. But she never said it out loud, for fear of upsetting the boys when they seemed so happy, instead smiling and accepting the hugs that were passed around.

* * *

Heather ran her fingers along the wire hangers in her closet, the cold metal chilling her to the bone. She tried to imagine taking the clothes off of the hanger, bending it completely out of shape, and - Heather winced at that mental image, pulling her hand away before the thought of a bloody hanger became too much for her to handle.

She was too squeamish to go through with it and what if child's ghost haunted her afterwards? Could she really handle seeing her baby in the crib upstairs with Patrick? God, did the baby even have a spirit at this point?

Before she could think further about it, she felt someone staring at her back. Heather quickly turned and nearly shrieked when she saw a nervous looking Edie. "Jesus, Edie," Heather laughed weakly, "You scared the shit out of me. Where have you been? I haven't seen you - "

"I was with Erik," Edie said softly in her oh so comforting voice. Heather blinked. "Oh. Is he - doing okay?" Edie nodded, a soft smile growing on her face, and Heather noticed how tired the woman looked. "Yes. He misses you all very much."

Heather was going to respond to that, but the baby came to mind and, well, the baby was Edie's grandchild so - she deserved to know the truth. "Edie, I need to tell you something," Heather said quickly, her tone becoming more and more nervous, "Erik and I - I'm pregnant, Edie. And it's Erik's." Edie's eyes widened and she looked quickly inbetween Heather's face and her stomach. "You're - there's a baby - I'm going to be a grandmother?"

Heather closed her eyes and nodded, and shivered when she felt Edie's cold hand come into contact with her covered belly. There wasn't much there, just a little fat that had always hung around there, but Edie's smile was still so bright, as she leaned down and whispered, "Mein Enkelkind. Sie werden so schön und so stark sein."

It still felt surreal that there was in fact a baby inside of her and that Heather was going to be a mom in around 6 months, but that didn't stop her from laughing softly at how happy Edie looked.

But that was all shattered when Edie said, "I can't stay very long."

Heather blinked. "What do you mean?" Edie looked regretful as she pulled her hand away from Heather's stomach, "I spent 18 years looking for my boy, Heather. I'm not going to let him go again. You will understand that soon when you meet your own. I can't leave Erik." Heather nodded, feeling numb all over again. "I will visit you and the baby whenever I can."

"We never fulfilled your wish, you didn't get to move on," Heather claimed, blinking her eyes, trying to clear the tears away. "You brought me to my son," Edie whispered, "That's more than I could have ever asked for." She then leaned over and pressed a kiss to Heather's forehead, and whispered, "Goodbye, mein lieber."

Before she knew it, Edie Lehnsherr was gone. And Heather could barely keep herself from falling down.

* * *

 **I've started making a list of deleted scenes/concepts from No Angels and I'm thinking of posting them soon.**

 **Some would have make the story more interesting, others...not so much.**

 **Either way, keep voting in the comments/reviews for the gender of Heather and Erik's baby! When I publish Chapter 10 (I'm not even going to state a date because I honestly can't say when), I'll leave the polls open for 2 extra days and then the contest will come to an end! Any votes after that are invalid!**


	6. Chapter 6

"Heather, here, let me get that - "

Heather didn't have a second to even process what had been said before the heavy bag of groceries was out of her arms. The brunette huffed, blowing at the bangs that fallen in her eyes in annoyance, before shooting a glare at Alex - who seemly ignored it. After all, it wasn't the first thing. Ever since the fateful night that Heather revealed she was expecting, the boys had been - overprotective. Very overprotective.

Anything that weighed more than ten pounds was taken away from her, if she stood too long one of them would find her a seat, if she was going to eat something unhealthy they'd find her something else. And, while Heather knew they had her best interest in mind, she was rather annoyed by it all.

Maybe it was the hormones, maybe it was the fact that they were withholding chocolate from her, but Heather was always one step away from snapping at them all to just back off.

She never did though; instead, she just bit her tongue and went on with her day, taking walks around the mansion and sleeping whenever she could. She tried to be helpful but either the boys scrambled to stop her or - she just didn't feel up to it. Heather felt like she was in some sort of limbo, almost a free fall, and while everything seemed to be so slow, at the same time, it was all going so fast.

She was already almost four months pregnant and some days, at the right angle, Heather could even see the baby bump. But it was still hard to believe that there was a little person in there.

"I'm going into the living room," she informed Alex, who was currently debating where to put the graham crackers, "Are you sure you don't need any help?" Alex waved her on stubbornly, and Heather sighed, kicking her shoes off and tossing them on the mat beside the door, before leaving the room.

Charles, Hank, and Sean were already in there when she popped her head in, watching some western movie with Clint Eastwood in it. Heather took a seat on an empty couch, sprawling out and stretching her arms above her head, wincing when her back cracked several times. Charles glanced over at her and gave her a small smile, while the other boys' eyes were glued to the screen.

"Heather, I was thinking - " Charles began before being shushed by Sean.

"That's a dangerous thing," Heather replied rather sarcastically and Charles gave her an unimpressed look.

"The crib in the attic," Charles continued, "I was thinking that you could use it for the baby." Heather froze. She hadn't thought about a crib. In fact, she hadn't thought about furniture or clothes or toys or anything for the baby. It was hard enough convincing herself that she was going to be a mom but now - "That's Patrick's crib," Heather reasoned, "I don't - want to take it from him."

Charles blinked in surprise, but before he could say anything else, she quickly added, "We can worry about stuff for the baby later. I mean, it's not coming for another five months, right? We - we have time." Hank glanced over in concern and Charles continued to look at her in shock, but neither objected.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

Heather set the warm cup of tea down on Charles' desk, looking over the man in confusion. The man had his fingers to his temple, his eyes squeezed shut, and his face a mask of strain. Charles opened his eyes suddenly and let out a sharp exhale of air, rubbing a hand over his face.

"I've been trying to contact Raven and Erik," Charles explained, each of the names making Heather's stomach somersault, "To tell them about the baby and my - legs. But I can't reach them."

"Why not?"

"They have someone like me, a telepath, named Emma with them," Charles then let out a bitter laugh, "She's a strong one. Her shield is impressive." There was still something dark over Charles' face and Heather took a wild guess, "Did you - talk to her?"

"No, no, but - " Charles paused, his hands reaching out for the cup of tea, " - every time I try to break through, she sends me - I don't know how to describe it. It's a church and a man keeps preaching about mutants. About how they need to be stopped, how they're an abomination. That they're dangerous."

Heather felt sick to her stomach. "Do you think she's making it up?" Charles shook his head, but replied, "She could, she could just be trying to make me give up on humans. But - it seemed so real."

And later that week, when a local news channel covered a minister by the name of Edwin Partidge - a man of God driven to end mutants - they learned that it was real.

It was too real.

* * *

 **So, my family moved again and that was crazy.**

 **Sorry about the short, sort of crappy chapter. It's mainly meant to kind of set things up, so it's basically a filler chapter.**

 **I've also decided on names for the baby!**

 **Boy - Christopher James**

 **Girl - Christine Edie**

 **Boy and girl - Christopher James and Christine Edie**

 **Girl and girl - Christine Edie and Catherine Ruth**

 **Boy and boy - Christopher James and Alexander Michael**

 **Remember to keep voting!**


	7. Chapter 7

Heather watched her stomach grow.

At first, she could ignore the weight gain - she could just pretend she had eaten a lot at dinner - but it seemed be to be growing faster than normal. By four months pregnant, it almost looked like she had a small balloon hidden under her shirt. And to say she was terrified was the understatement of the century.

Both Charles and Hank reassured her that mutant pregnancies were no different than human pregnancies in length, and that her baby was most likely a large child (which terrified her more because she still had five months to go and she really liked her insides where they were).

With the weight gain came the nudges.

Her baby loved to move.

A lot.

They weren't big movements, just tiny flutters that Heather barely felt herself. But one night, while she laid on her back and stared at the ceiling, a hand laying instinctively on her stomach, the baby inside of her brushed along where the hand was and - that was it. That was when it really hit her - she was going to be a mom, she was a mom.

There was a baby on it's way and there was no denying or stopping it.

Heather tried her hardest to choke back the tears, but couldn't help herself.

That night, she whispered her insecurities to her baby. She told them that she was afraid of being like her own mother - so bitter and hateful, yet so broken and lost - that she was afraid of disappointing Edie and that she was afraid that they would become Erik. And when the baby nudged once more, call her a sap but Heather knew they cared.

After that, Heather felt - better. She didn't feel as hopeless or lost because - because she had a reason to hope, she had a reason to keep going. She also started being more excited for the baby's arrival - she finally opened a catalog full of nursery things and even started a list of names. And when the boys asked, she finally let them touch her belly and, upon hearing yes, they pouched on her.

And watching their faces, their eyes, light up for the first time in what seemed like years, Heather began to realize that she wasn't the only one this baby was healing.

* * *

"He's dead?"

"Yes."

"They're blaming us, aren't they?"

Charles glanced at Sean, taking his eyes away from the television set. On the screen, below a BREAKING NEWS banner, read Edwin Partridge Dead; Mutants Suspected. The volume was low, but Heather could hear the hum of the angry crowd through the speakers. The crowd wanted blood, mutant blood, as payment for their leader's death.

"Do they even know if it was a murder?" Sean questioned further, but Charles let out a soft laugh. "I don't think they care. They're carrying on Edwin's morals and values. He wanted to destroy, so here's his opportunity."

Hank shifted uncomfortably, before asking, "Are we going to have to go into hiding?"

"That may be the best option," Heather responded, "Give the mob some time to - cool off."

"How long do you think that will take?"

"I have no idea."

* * *

It was the fifth time that Charles and Heather tried to contact Erik that they finally got a response.

But from the wrong person.

There was a sound of nails being dragged across a chalkboard and Heather covered her ears instinctively, even though the noise was only in her and Charles' heads. It ended after a short amount of time, but it left an unbearable headache that had Heather swaying and nearly throwing up. "What do you want?" A voice that sounded like pure ice boomed in their heads and Heather winced.

"We need to talk to Erik," Charles thought weakly, suffering similar to Heather.

"Can't do that, honey, he's a little busy right now."

"Please," Heather begged, "He has to know, he has to know that I'm - "

" - Oh, dearly," the voice cooed, sugar sweet now but with a sharp edge, "He has more important things to do then play daddy. It'd be in your best interest and the whiny brat's interest to not try and break my shield again. Otherwise, I can show you just how easily a developing mind can tumble." The voice was gone after that, leaving an icy feeling in the room and in Heather's bones.

They never tried again after that, fearful of what Emma would do to the baby.

* * *

 **This is so bad. And so short. And so late.**

 **School is killing me.**

 **Annnnnyway**

 **Things to look forward to:**

 **Deleted Scenes/Alternate Endings of No Angels being published alongside of either Chapter 8 or 9**

 **Gender Contest ends 2 days after I post Chapter 10 (which is 3 chapters away, so keep voting)**

 **Possible sneak peek of Calling All Angels**


	8. Chapter 8

"Are you sure bears and bunnies even go together?"

Heather pursed her lips, hands folded on top of her protuding belly, as she glanced over at a protesting Sean. The boy had made a mess of himself - pale yellow paint was splattered across his t-shirt and arms, some even reaching his face, acting as a second pair of freckles - and Heather wondered if he had even managed to get any of the paint on the wall before him.

The nursery was large, almost as big as Heather's room, and while the room had first seemed dark and dingy, with a little paint and sunshine, it was shaping up. "Like, I'm pretty sure bears eat bunnies, so I don't know why you'd want them together," Sean continued, and Heather had to bite her lip at how serious the boy seemed.

"Sean," she responded, "I seriously doubt any infant is going to question why bunnies and bears are together. Plus, it's not like the blankets I bought have the bunnies being mauled, in fact, they're having a tea party." Alex snorted at that, but continued painting, while Hank shrugged his shoulders, adding almost to himself, "I think it's cute."

Sean looked like he wanted to protest further but Alex ran his paintbrush along the back of his neck, making the younger boy slap a hand across his mouth, trying to hold in a shriek, before he grabbed his own brush and attacked the other boy with it. Heather quickly left the room, smiling to herself as she heard the three boys' laughs echo through the halls.

Heather walked - more like waddled at this point - to Charles' study, stopping at the doorway and knocking gently against the wood. Charles glanced up from his papers, just as Heather asked, "Are you busy?"

"I'm afraid so," the man's voice was tense and stressed, and Heather noticed the dark circles under his eyes, how pale he was starting to look. "How long have you been in here?"

Charles shrugged, and Heather sighed, making her way over to his desk. "Charles, you need to get some rest."

"I need to keep looking for students. And to help with the school. And to look over the plans for Cerebro. And - " Heather stopped him there, taking his face in her hands and turning him to look up her, his face almost parallel with her stomach. "You can't just burn yourself out. You have to take care of yourself. Otherwise I'll have to start acting a mom towards you." Charles smiled weakly at that, glancing down at her belly, before asking, "How's the nursery coming along?"

Heather let go of his face, leaning against the desk. "Good. The boys work surprisingly - " There was a loud crash from somewhere in the mansion, " - good together." Charles could hardly keep his giggles to himself. "Oh, really?" He teased, and Heather rolled her eyes, playfully shoving at his shoulder.

The laughter stopped suddenly, as Charles' eyes widened. "What?" Heather questioned, "What's wrong?" Charles shushed her, and continued to look at him in confusion. Was something wrong? Was that crash they heard something more serious? Before Heather could question him again, Charles mumbled, "I hear it."

"It?"

"I mean - I hear the baby. Its - they're - thinking. Rather loudly, actually."

Heather stared at Charles for a moment with wide eyes, before glancing down at her stomach. He could read her baby's thoughts. Of course she knew the baby could think but it'd never occured to her that Charles might be able to read its thoughts while its little mind was still developing. "What's it thinking about?"

"Just simple things, really. Colors, swirls. I would look deeper but - " Charles stopped and Heather understood after a second. He was afraid of his power - as an infant, he had accidentaly killed his brother with it, so of course he was afraid of pushing into the baby's mind. "It's okay," Heather quickly added, before a sharp kick silenced her. After a moment of shock, she let out a laugh. "I think he or she wants to announce their presence." Charles' hands found their way to her belly and he laughed as the baby kicked once more. "I think it likes the attention," Charles concluded.

* * *

After that, it seemed like the baby never stopped kicking.

Not a day went by that Heather wasn't in pain, whether it was from her swollen ankles, her aching ribs or the fact that a tiny human was currently kicking (and punching, she was sure as hell going to hold that against her child) the hell out of her uterus.

Not to mention that the doctor had told her at her seventh month appointment that the baby was going to be a big one - and the room seemed to spin a little when he added the phrase "...a nine pounder...". This was her punishment, she supposed, for being a rather large baby herself. She was going to have to go through what her mother went through.

Don't get her wrong, she loved her kid with all her heart, but she just wanted the baby out now.

* * *

Heather was half asleep when she felt it. A cold, lifeless presence in the room, so different from the May warmth that surrounded them all, and it was at the foot of her bed. Her eyes fluttered open and she blinked several times to cover her vision, settling on the woman before her. She hadn't changed at all from the first time she'd seen her - dead, unblinking eyes and blonde curls - and Sharon Xavier's hand hovered over Heather's stomach.

"I want to start over," the woman's voice was almost a whisper, like she was sharing a secret with Heather, "I can do better. I can be a good mommy." Heather sat up and backed away from her hand, and Sharon looked almost shocked, like she hadn't even noticed Heather was there. "I deserve another chance," Sharon's voice turned bitter and cold, and Heather laid a hand protectively over her belly. "Get out. You had your chance," Heather growled, "You were a shitty mom."

Sharon's expression and attitude changed in a heartbeat, and the woman was suddenly wailing. "Charlie," she cried, almost like she was begging for them to answer her, "Charlie, baby. Raven. I promise - I promise, I'll be - I'll be a good mommy. Patrick. Cassie. Please come home." Heather stared at Sharon in confusion, before asking, "Cassie, who's - "

But with one final wail of agony, Sharon Xavier disappeared.

* * *

 **Woot, woot, big announcement.**

 **So I decided to combine what I had planned for Chapters 8 and 9, mainly because they were really short.**

 **So the next chapter is *dun dun dun* Chapter 10 (or as it's now known, Chapter 9). Once Chapter 10 is published, you have two days left to vote for what gender Erik and Heather's baby should be.**


	9. Chapter 9

Heather didn't sleep well that night.

Any time she'd fall back asleep, she could feel that cold, lifeless presence once more and the paranoia of she's going to take my baby would set in, making Heather spring up, with her heart beating fast and her eyes wide. When the sun finally began to peek through her curtains, she let out a defeated sign and left her warm bed, knowing that she had no chance of getting any sleep now.

She dressed quickly - well, as quickly as a pregnant woman could - and left her room, shivering in the unusually cold and dark hallway. The mansion was silent, the boys most likely still fast asleep, and while usually Heather would have enjoyed some peace and quiet, the silence just seemed eery.

Just as she was going to the kitchen, she noticed the door of Charles' study partially open, light pouring out of the tiny crack. Heather opened the door slowly, peeking in and seeing Charles behind his desk, furiously scratching away at a piece of paper before him - exactly how she left him when she went to bed.

"Charles," she spoke up, "Did you even go to bed?"

"Couldn't sleep," he responded nonchatulently, not even looking up at her. Heather, feeling rather frustrated, paused before walking behind him and pushing him away from the desk. "Hey!" Charles protested, but Heather continued to wheel him away. "You need sleep, Charles," she insisted, "This isn't healthy. You can't just keep doing this."

It was like all of the fight in Charles drained out, as the man slumped in his wheelchair with a sigh. "I know," he said mournfully, "But - it makes it so easy to forget - things." Heather stopped, knowing exactly what he was talking about. His legs, Raven, Erik. Thinking of each made Heather's chest feel empty, making her feel breathless. "I miss them too," Heather whispered, and Charles looked up at her with his wide, shocking blue eyes.

"Come on," Heather said weakly, "Let's get you to bed."

* * *

When they had first arrived at the mansion after Cuba, Charles had been - insistent on doing everything himself.

He was constantly trying to move himself from his bed into his wheelchair, demanding that they all stand back, so that he could do it, so that he could just some little bit of independence. He'd rolled over too much, one night, and fallen to the ground, but still gnashed his teeth and bared his fangs - in tears from the pain and the humiliation, he yelled at them all to leave, hands desperately grasping for his chair.

Since then, he'd become more willing to expect help, not even fighting back just accepting it. He didn't say a word as Heather tucked the blankets around him, but once she had moved to shut the curtains, he said, "Something's bothering you."

Heather froze, before responding softly, "Your mother came to my room last night."

"Oh." From the silence, Heather knew he was reading her mind. Heather sat on the side of his bed, before giving him a small smile as he grimanced. "Heather - " He started, ready to apologize, but she stopped him. "It's - it's alright. If she does try anything - " She paused, not knowing if she should tell him about the whole banishing thing, after all that was his mom.

"Charles, who's Cassie?"

The man froze, his face becoming more and more pale. "Cassie - Cassandra - was my older sister. She was my parents' favorite but she drowned when she was toddler, while my mother was pregnant with me and my brother. My mother wasn't a nice woman to begin with, but after Cassie's death, well, it ruined her. It ruined my father, as well as. He was nearly driven mad with grief and - he later killed himself because of it."

"Jesus - "

" - So, I guess that's her wish?

Heather blinked in confusion, "What?"

"My mother wants to try again. Or she wants all of her children together again." Charles mumbled sleepily, a sad look in his eyes. "Guess she won't be having that wish fulfilled."

* * *

July 28 - Heather's due date - passed, and with each day, the mansion seemed more and more tense and alert, as if at a drop of a pin, everyone would start running towards the hospital. Heather was the most tense - after all, she was the one with an overdue and possibly gigantic baby currently leaning on her bladder.

Sadly, the doctor told her that it was normal for first time mothers to go over their due date - and when he said sometimes a week, Heather was ready throw something out of a window.

She wanted this baby out - she wanted to hold her new son or daughter, she wanted to kiss them and hug them and teach them how to talk and walk and tell them that they were her world and that she going to let nothing happen to them.

Luckily, she didn't have to wait long.

* * *

The morning of July 31 just felt - wrong.

Heather's lower back was killing her, the sharp ache never changing pace, and the boys seemed to notice, making her sit, and while normally she would have protested, she silently laid her head in Alex's lap and watched The Beverly Hillbillies with him, his long fingers running through her hair to try and comfort her.

It was only two hours later, that her stomach started to cramp terribly, feeling hot and tight and it was getting worse and worse. Heather, who had been half asleep, whimpered, hiding her face in Alex's thigh - trying to will the damn pain away before she realized what it meant.

The baby - the baby was probably, most likely on it's way.

She removed herself from the couch, making her way to the wall phone, her shoulder hunched as she dialed the number for her doctor. A short conversation with the doctor proved that she was, in fact, in labor and that she needed to get her butt to the hospital.

When she walked back into the room and announced she was in labor, the boys were off like a bullet - acting as if Heather had told them that she had been shot multiple times. Hank raced for the night bag, Sean ran to start the car, Alex and Charles both came to her sides, taking her hands and guiding her to the car.

And if she wasn't in pain, she would have laughed at how ridiciously terrified their faces were.

When they arrived, Alex and Sean led her inside, with Hank claiming he needed to find a parking spot and help Charles get out of the car (Heather really hoped Charles was using his mind trick on people because Hank was still blue and furry, and she really didn't feel like getting thrown out of a hospital today).

The nurses were kind, taking her away from Alex's and Sean's hands, but Heather was suddenly nervous. "Can one of them come with me?" She asked, and one of the nurses - a short woman with soft face - shook her head. "Sorry, deary, no guys in the delivery room." Heather started to panic, oh god, she had to do this alone. She tried to signal this to the boys but the nurses had already led her to a hospital room and they were telling her to put the gown on and they were telling her she was going to be okay - but Heather's head was spinning with a combination of fear and pain.

She changed into the pale blue hospital gown slowly, noting that she felt nothing but exposed in the outfit. Wrapping her arms around herself, she made her way of the bathroom, towards the short nurse. But she felt a sudden trickle of something wild down her thighs.

She stepped back, staring in horror at the small puddle that had formed and Heather's cheeks were on fire as she opened her mouth to apologize, but the nurse let out a sudden laugh. "Looks like your water broke," she claimed, making Heather's heart stop, "Let's get you to the delivery room."

* * *

 **You now have until 11:30 pm on October 15 to vote for the baby's gender.**

 **Also, for those asking, this is going to be like No Angels, where I added Heather into First Class. So the baby and Heather will be added into both the future and the present of Days of Future Past. In fact, the first part of Chapter 12 takes place in 2023.**


	10. Chapter 10

Everything happened so fast after that.

Heather was laid on a cushioned table by two nurses, as a third raced to the hallway, calling out for the doctor to hurry and get his scrubs on. Her legs were being forced apart and Heather would have been scrambling to cover herself up if she wasn't in so much pain. Each time a contraction hit, each time her stomach tightened and cramped, it felt like she was being repeatedly punched in the gut.

The doctor hurried inside, pushing up the frames of his glasses before he pulled on a pair of latex gloves, all the while asking the nurses various questions about Heather and - and she could barely understand them, her mind was so numb with pain, she couldn't even follow the simplest of phrases.

It took her a while to understand that the doctor was looking straight at her and demanding her to push. Push, push, she thought, she needed to push, just a few pushes and her baby would be here. So Heather pushed as hard as she could, absentmindedly listening for when the doctor would tell her to stop and start.

Heather pushed a total of eight times before she stopped, out of breath and out of strength. Her shoulders shook with her sobs and she felt beyond weak - it was like in that moment that all of the fight left in her had just disappeared and she was just tired. She just wanted the pain to go away, she just wanted the world to go away.

A nurse by her side, a woman that could have been her grandmother, must have noticed this and she leaned down to whisper in Heather's ear. "Now, you listen," she insisted firmly, "I know you're scared, I know you're hurting. But you're not giving up - "

" - I can't do it, I can't - "

" - Yes, you can," her whispers were harsh now, "You can and you will." There was a pause, before the nurse continued, "Honey, you can try and give up, but the person that needs you the most right now is going to find a way out one way or another. So I'd suggest you help 'em out." Heather's sobs calmed slightly, as she nodded franctically, before the nurse leaned down once more and said, "You're not alone."

You're not alone.

Heather squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stop the escaping tears but she couldn't help herself. With her hand finding the older nurse's, she found an extra bit of strength, pushing once more with all her strength, giving it her all and even letting out a scream as she did so.

It took a few more pushes before Heather felt the pain and pressure in her stomach - ease up and, just as she was going to make a comment about it, she heard a high-pitched wail.

She blinked, her eyes just tearing up at the sound of the cries and her heart beating insanely, before she lifted her head from her pillow to catch a proper look at her baby. It was a squirmly little thing, smaller than what she thought it would be, and it was covered in blood and god knows what else, but it was the most beautiful thing Heather had ever seen.

"It's a boy," the doctor announced and Heather tried not to cry, but she was failing. She had a son, she had a little boy. She reached her arms out for him, her heart hurting with every screech the boy let out, but to no avail. "Give him to me," she tried, but the doctor passed him off to another nurse, who hurried him out of the room. "No," Heather protested, trying to crawl her way off of the table and out of the room, "No, he - he needs me. Can't you hear him? He needs - he wants his mom, please."

The remaining nurses restrained her and Heather struggled against them, her maternal instinict against scaring herself. They held her there until she calmed enough for them to release her - though they all glanced at her nervously, as if they were expecting her to jump up and start running at any point.

Heather, on the other hand, had no desire to run at that point. While she deseprately wanted to see her son, she was feeling - gross. Her stomach was doing somersaults and she felt so hot and sticky and so close to vomiting.

It was five minutes later that the burning started.

Heather moaned and groaned weakly, her hands finding her still prominent stomach. "You must be delivering the placenta," the doctor reasoned and she was about ready to whoop this man's ass. No one had ever told her that she had to deliver the goddamn placenta too.

She believed him for another minute, until he let out an, "Oh my god!"

Heather panicked. Something was wrong. Something was wrong with her. Or her son. God, please don't let there be anything wrong with him, she hadn't even held him yet - "She's crowning!" The doctor yelled, and before Heather could question it, he added, "There's another baby!"

"What?" Heather screeched. Now she was definitely going to kick his ass. "Another baby? I have to - " The doctor looked up at her and nodded, "You have to start pushing again." The pain wasn't as bad as the last time, but it still hard like a bitch. Not to mention, Heather was terrified. Two babies, not one but two. She was going to have to raise two children - twins.

She didn't have much time to even process the idea of now having two kids before another high-pitched cry filled the air. "It's a girl!" The doctor announced proudly, lifting the small, red faced baby up to show her off, and Heather's heart felt warm and gooey. A little girl. She'd always wanted her own daughter and now - now she had one and now she had a son.

The girl was taken away quickly, just like her brother had been, and with the pain slowly fading away into a dull throb, Heather promptly passed out.

* * *

Heather woke up to a clean, warm room and a new pale purple gown. The curtains were drawn, making it impossible for her to tell how many hours had passed since she had the babies.

The babies.

Oh god, they only had one crib. And one of everything else. She was going to have to have one of the boys run and get an extra crib and more diapers, and she wanted more clothes for them, pink and blue galore, and they needs socks, oh god, their little feet were going to get cold, they needed all the socks they could find and -

Heather's thoughts were stopped when a tall, blonde nurse walked in with two whining bundles - one in blue and one in pink. She glanced between the two and the nurse cautiously, before asking, "I can - Can I hold them?" The nurse smiled and said, "Sure thing," before making her way to the side of the bed.

Her son and daughter fit easily in her arms, as if they were a puzzle piece, completeing a part of Heather that she never knew was missing. They were both small, just barely over 6 pounds each, and both looked equally frog like with their puffy cheeks and wide noses. They both had light brown tufts of hair; the boy's stuck up in random directons and if she had had a free hand, she would have fixed it.

Both had stopped whining the minute they were placed in Heather's arms and that was enough to make her tear up. The boy had fallen into an easy sleep, while the girl blinked a few times, her dark blue eyes squinted as she tried to focus on everything before her.

"They're perfect," Heather whispered to the nurse, before the other woman asked, "Do you have names picked out?"

She paused for a moment, thinking over the names she'd chosen beforehand, repeating them to herself over and over to see if they fit, before finally responding.

"Yeah, Joseph James and Charlotte Edie."

* * *

 **So as you may have noticed _Twins (boy and girl)_ won! Yay, so Erik and Heather officially have a baby boy and girl. Big thank you to everyone that voted, I was surprised by how many of you actually did it!**

 **You may have also noticed I changed the names.**

 **Sorry.**

 **I felt like these ones were more meaningful than Christopher and Christine (which are also the male and female versions of each other, which is kind of weird?). So Joseph and Charlotte it is. These kids are going have some wild nicknames.**


	11. Chapter 11

It was quiet in the room for a while.

The twins didn't cry or wail after the nurse left, both seeming rather content where they were. Heather sat up a bit, trying not to move them around so much, but after a while, the babies seemed heavier and heavier. Little Joseph started whining soon after, and Heather's heart tugged, part of her feeling terrible that she'd accidently woken up her son.

"Shh, shh," she whispered, rocking him, "Mommy's here, mommy's got you."

Here was a sudden chill in the room that had Heather freezing, something that the twins noticed - each letting out their own panicked whimpers. Looking up, however, Heather caught sight of a wide eyed Edie - something that made her relax and even let out a laugh.

"I know, I know. It surprised me too. I mean - twins," she continued to laugh, before trying to motion her to come over. "Edie, meet your grandkids."

At the speed of light, Edie was sitting on the bed, near Heather's legs, and her eyes were filled with tears. She leaned over, gazing at them with such love - it really made Heather wish Edie could hold them. "Meine Kostbaren," she whispered in an oh so soft voice, "Sie sind perfekt."

Edie looked away from the twins, as she asked, "Have you named them?"

"Yes, Joseph James and Charlotte Edie." She hadn't gotten used to calling by their names just yet, and part of her worried that she'd named them too fast (after all, it had taken a whole month for her own father to name her - but that was a different story). Heather blinked in confusion when she heard Edie scoff. "The middle name is fine, liebe," Edie claimed, waving her hand dismissively, "I am not fine with the first names."

Before Heather could say anything, Edie looked back down at her grandchildren, cooeing, "No, no. You do not look like a Joseph and Charlotte. You look like - " Edie paused to think, before a smile grow, " - like a Pietro and Wanda."

Heather wrinkled her nose. "Where did you come up with those names?" Edie shrugged. "I always liked those names. But I am serious. Little Pietro and Wanda. Adorable, yes?"

"I already told the nurse what their names were," Heather explained, but Edie shook her head. "I wanted to name Erik 'Max' for the longest of time. See? Parents change their minds all the time." At the mention of Erik, Heather's stomach sank. "How is he?" She asked softly. Edie glanced at Heather, before letting out a sigh. "He - Something has changed in him. The man I see and the boy I remember - they are not one."

"The blonde woman - I don't remember her name but she is not good for him. He listens to her too much. She is - she is very similar to Shaw or Schmidt or whoever he really was."

"Does he know about - "

" - No. If he does, he shows no sign." The silence that flew over them was thick and it took a while for Edie to finally break it. "I should go back. Even - even if he has changed, he is my son." Edie leaned down and placed a kiss on the twins' foreheads. Looking back up at Heather, a smile had returned to Edie's face as she said, "Take care of my little Pietro and Wanda." Heather rolled her eyes playfully, just as Edie leaned forward and placing a kiss on Heather's forehead as well. Pulling away, the woman whispered, "Sei stark," before vanishing right before her very eyes.

Heather had to put the twins down on the bed to wipe the tears falling from her eyes.

* * *

As if fate itself was yelling at her, the same nurse entered the room not even 10 minutes later.

She checked Heather's vitals, as well as the twins, before asking if there was anything else Heather needed. She had to decide now, there was never going to be another time like this. While Pietro and Wanda seemed a little out dated, it was a wonderful way for Edie to be apart of her grandkids' lives - especially since they'd never really get to see her.

"Actually, yes, yes, you can," Heather called out nervously, before swallowing and continuing, "I - Can I change their names?"

The nurse's happy demeanor faded, as her eyes narrowed. "I guess so."

The change surprised and kind of scared Heather, but she kept going. "I'd like to, uh, change the boy's name to Pietro James and the girl's name to Wanda Edie. Please."

It took a while - the nurse returned with two new birth certificates, mumbling something about paperwork being the worst thing about this job, and asked how she wanted it spelled, and who the father was, before finally having her sign it - but by the end of it, Heather felt a little calmer.

Maybe it was the hormones or Edie's visit making her an emotional mess, but she swore that she saw Pietro and Wanda smile when the nurse said their names were official.

* * *

"Woah, why is there two of them?"

For some reason, Heather just knew Sean would be the one to make the obvious observation. The four boys piled into the room quickly, each wanting deseprately to see their new honorary niece or nephew, but they all came to a halt when they saw Heather holding two babies.

"Believe me, I was just as surprised," Heather laughed, and Alex's eyes widened. "Twins," he whispered, like he was terrified of raising his voice, "Oh my god, you - twins."

Alex was the first to make his way to Heather's bedside, with Charles and Sean quickly following behind. Heather reached out, placing Wanda in Charles' arms, and - and Charles looked at her with his big, blue eyes with such curiosity and hope, and Sean was leaning over Charles' wheelchair, looking at the little girl like she was a Christmas present.

She gave Pietro to Alex, a grin on his face, as he started talking to the little boy. "Hey, buddy. I can't wait to teach you how to play football. You'll do great, I just know it." Heather glanced away from her kids, towards Hank, standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed. "Yo, Beast," Alex said, something that Hank didn't look too happy about, "You wanna hold him?"

Hank looked like he was internally panicking, so Heather decided to take things into her own hands. She took Pietro from Alex's arms before motioning Hank to sit. Once seated, she sat up further - something that hurt terribly, god, she was so sore - and said, "Hold your arm out like this." He hesitanted, but did so, and Heather slowly placed Pietro inbetween his elbow.

Pietro whined softly and Hank froze, but the baby's tiny fist grabbed a hold of the blue fur, making no further sounds of protest. Hank held him lightly, seemingly afraid that any amount of strength could hurt the boy in his arms, but he was slowly starting to warm up to him.

* * *

 **So, yeah, I had this planned from the beginning but when I was writing the last chapter, I was hesitanting - so I gave the kids' new names and decided to just keep those names.**

 **Ha.**

 **No.**

 **I then looked into my file with all the things I have saved for Calling All Angels and realized that (SPOILER) Erik and Heather's first kid is named Charlotte. So.**

 **I decided to go back to my original idea.**

 **Also, sorry that it took me over a month to get this written. I had a whirlwind romance in that month (I say that because we dated for 3 weeks before we broke up - boys are weird, relationships are weird), and I was away from my laptop for a lot of it.**


	12. Chapter 12

**CHINA, 2023**

Wanda tightened her grip on the hanging strap, wincing as the jet made a not-so-soft landing. There was tension throughout; while finding the rest of their team was in fact great news, it did nothing to fix their grim faces - finding the X-Men wouldn't guarantee they'd all survive and it sure as hell wouldn't bring back those they had lost. Ignoring the peg in her heart, she glanced over at her older brother.

It shocked Wanda, sometimes, how much they had changed.

Their hair was tainted with gray - though with Pietro's platinum blonde, you barely noticed it throughout his thick hair and goatee - and their faces were wrinkled, crow's feet appearing when they smiled or laughed. But their powers were stronger now, more developed.

Pietro's blue eyes were focused straight ahead, his gaze never leaving the door. His lips were drawn in a grim line and Wanda - she never thought she'd say it but - she missed his dumb jokes, his pranks, his never ending laughter. The man before her was no longer the carefree Pietro of their youth, but instead, a Pietro that had seen too much, lost too much.

She felt a hand be placed on her shoulder and she turned to see her father.

Wanda restrained yourself from shrugging the hand off and, well, who would blame her? She'd only met the man twenty years ago and even then, he'd been trying to destroy the humans. That wasn't something she could just forgive. But she had promised mom that she'd try and be civil - though her mom had told her she could always kick his ass if she needed her to.

Wanda found herself smiling at the thought, before the openning of the bay door snapped her out of it.

They all made their way out - Pietro, Charles, Storm, Magneto and Wolverine - and they were greeted by some familiar faces.

"Professor!" Bobby called out, his face relaxing, as the other mutants drew closer to see. "Bobby," Storm mused, making her way to his side and hugging the younger boy, as he hummed, "Hey, Storm." Wolverine, with a lit cigar, nodded towards Bobby, letting out a simple, "Hey, kid."

"Professor, you made it."

* * *

 **USA, 1963**

Heather quickly learned that the twins were very different.

Wanda loved, craved, attention. Anytime that Heather would put her down before Wanda was ready for it, the little girl would begin to whine and whimper - if Heather wasn't fast enough, the shrieks of utter agony would start. But the minute she was in her mother's - or her uncles', she wasn't picky - arms, she was calm and back to cooing in no time.

Pietro was a much calmer baby. He loved sleep and to Heather's relief, spent most of his time napping. When he was awake, he was gurgling happily - whether he was being given a colorful toy or being played with by the boys. To Heather's surprise, he was never fond of Alex's rock music, letting out happy squeals whenever he'd hear it.

The boys were enjoying their roles as honorary uncles, but Heather knew they were still anxious about having newborns around, especially since they'd never had experience with babies before. (When Heather left them alone for 3 hours, after they promised they had it all handled, she'd come home to find both of the babies screaming and Sean crying). But it was nice having them around - and she knew the twins liked having them around as well.

The first few months were hard - some days Heather didn't want to get out of her bed, but soon the cries of her babies were too much to ignore - but the smiles and the giggles and the big curls that appeared on Wanda's head made it worth it.

Both of them were getting bigger with each day, and they were beginning to roll over and push themselves up on their arms, big blue eyes watching every move she made.

* * *

President Kennedy died on a Friday.

The twins had just been put down for a nap and they had been cleaning up from lunch when Charles shouted from the living room. Dishes were quickly abandoned in favor of new reports. The few channels they had were all reporting on the developing story - Kennedy had been shot and no one knew who had done it or what was going on.

An hour and thirty minutes later, he was dead.

It was silent through out the home, sadness and shock polluting the air, and when Wanda woke up from her nap crying, Heather cuddled her little girl in the nursery - needing some comfort herself.

The following days were similar; they talked more about what had happened but it seemed as if the whole nation was too shocked, too numb, to move on. Heather couldn't stop to mourn, however; her babies needed her.

It was after the state funeral, with the nation still on high alert, that they began looking for people to question about the crime.

And his picture was the first shown.

Heather stared at the screen in horror and - and she couldn't think straight. Erik. Erik was wanted for questioning. The father of her children had very possibly killed their President.

Hank had turned the television off quickly, but they had all seen it - they all knew.


	13. Chapter 13

After that, things only seemed to get worse.

Erik turned himself in a few months after the search began and not even a week later, the jury found him guilty. First-degree murder and conspiring to assassinate a president had led to a sentencing of two consecutive life sentences - in simple terms, Erik was never going to be a free man. Ever.

And while Heather was disappointed that her children would probably never met their father, she knew that the less content with him, the better.

The better chance that her babies wouldn't be disappointed when he left. Or when they turned out to be human.

There were times of light, of happiness, throughout the years to come - of course.

And most of the happiness came from the twins.

Pietro was mischievous. Heather could already tell that her little boy was going to be a troublemaker, especially when he started hiding things and making that little, devilish smirk. But even when she grew frustrated, his shrieks of laughter and his long lasting love of Alex's rock music and raspberries made her heart flutter.

Wanda could be a drama queen when she wanted to be, but that girl was also one of the sweetest things. When she started walking, Heather could rarely ever get her to stop following her. The little girl would always toddle after her, her chubby little fist hanging on tightly to Heather's skirt, and she'd always demand to help with whatever Heather was doing.

Pietro had been the first to walk, but Wanda had been the first one to speak - and she had taken it as her duty to always speak for her brother, even after Heather told her multiple times that no, sweetheart, Pietro can tell me he wants a peanut butter sandwich himself.

And even when they frustrated her to no end (three days out of the week, the two would crawl into her bed and kick her multiple times in the side through the night - try not getting frustrated over that), she'd just remember the look in their eyes when they saw her - like she was the only person that mattered, like she was their superhero - and she'd think of their hugs and kisses and I love yous'.

And then Charles opened the school.

There seemed to be more light in the house after that, with more laughter spreading throughout. The emptiness of the mansion seemed to - disappear with each addition to the school.

And each of the children brought something different to the table - Eva could control time, Christopher would heal others, Benjamin could morph his appearance, Fabio could create gold balls (Alex had asked the boy to a game of dodgeball and had come back holding an ice pack to his face), and then there was the quintuplets.

They were odd characters, that's for sure. No one, not even Charles, knew where they came from - Charles had stated that their mental barriers were so strong, he couldn't gather any information about them. Celeste, Esme, Irma, Phoebe, and Sophie.

There was something about them that had Heather shivering around them - though she chalked it off to their icy blue eyes, ever silent presense, and the fact that they were never alone.

But everyone was happy. Hank had created a serum that allowed him to look human for short periods of time, but continued to claim it was in a test stage - though the man seemed almost giddy about it. The twins had new people to play with and the students seemed more willing to open up when Wanda and Pietro were around - hell, Heather had even seen Celeste smile a little when Pietro gave her a flower.

It was too good to be true.

The Vietnam War began to pick up steam when they were barely even a semester into school. And with it came the drafts.

Christopher was first. He had gone with head held high, his jaw tight, and Heather wanted nothing more than to take him home - take him back to the mansion because he was too young, he was too young, and he reminded her so much of her brother.

Alex was next. It had been a punch, a straight punch to the gut, and her kids screamed and screamed when he walked out of the door towards the army truck. "I'll be home soon" he called out, pain in his voice, "I promise!"

Fabio and Benjamin were called one after another, as if that wasn't another blow. They interlocked arms like brothers and promised to be home for the next school year. Heather had grabbed them both and squeezed them tightly, like she was their mother.

Sean was the last. His face looked odd, no longer framed by his red curls, and Heather was surprised by the lack of baby fat lingering on his cheeks. He was no longer the teenager she'd met in '62, but a man. She hugged him tightly as well, kissing his cheek, and held her babies as they sobbed.

The house grew quiet as what had happened began to sink in. Heather tried to take over Alex and Sean's classes, but having her own classes and taking care of her kids and making sure Hank and Charles were okay - it was all overwhelming.

And that's when the first letter came.

The priest and army official exited the car at the same time and Heather felt lightheaded, as she stood on the porch, waiting. She thought back to when her brother's letter had been delivered, thought of her mother's scream of utter agony, and when official handed her to letter, it seemed to weigh ten pounds.

Her hands shook as she opened the letter and her heart almost stopped when she read the first sentence.

It is with deep regret that I inform you of the death of Private First Class Benjamin Deed.

She wanted to throw up. She wanted to scream and cry and she wanted her students, her friends, back. But Benjamin was dead. Killed during an attack, according to the letter, and Heather couldn't stop the tears that blurred her eyes.

A few months later, a letter came again - different this time. Christopher Muse was missing in action, and while Heather could hope with all her might that he was alive, the not knowing was eating her up.

No more letters arrived until the following year, and Heather tried to be strong when the priest and official left their car. She held her head high and clasped her hands together tightly, as the two made their way up the stairs. The twins watched from inside, their little faces pressed against the glass and eyes scanning the area - like they were expecting Sean, Alex and Fabio to just pop out.

She tried to be strong. But then she read the name.

...death of Sean Cassidy.

And Heather collapsed.


	14. Chapter 14

Not even a week after Sean's death, Charles decided to shut the school down.

The quintuplets were gone in a flash and while part of Heather had cared for the odd girls, she knew that they had one another and that they were smart - they'd be fine. Eva went home soon after, her brown eyes filling with tears as they said their goodbyes, and Heather held on tightly, wishing with all her might that she didn't have to lose someone else.

Only Hank, Charles, Heather and the twins remained.

And the mansion had never seemed emptier.

Hank tried to spend more time with the twins, trying to fill the suddenly empty voids left in their lives, and Heather was grateful for that, as she had another pressing matter.

Charles.

He had taken to staying in his office until early morning and then sleeping until noon, in which the cycle would repeat. He barely ate and he barely spoke to any of them. Heather knew his heart was hurting from losing his students and losing Sean - but they were hurting too, they needed him.

"Mommy?"

Heather rolled onto her side, eyes blinking as she focused on the figure in the doorway. Wanda stood silently in her red nightgown (red had always been her favorite color), her little shoulders hunched and her messy curls getting in her face.

"What's wrong, baby?" Heather asked softly, pulling back her covers as her daughter raced to her side of the bed, climbing onto it with a little struggle. Wanda practically threw herself into Heather's lap, her face resting against her neck, and Heather's hair ran through her curls.

"Uncle Charlie thinks too loud."

Heather's hand stopped suddenly, her dark brown eyes blinking in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"He's having a bad dream, mommy. And I can see it."

A telepath, Heather thought for a moment, before she realized that Charles most likely had no control over his power and was probably projecting his dream. "I'll talk to Uncle Charlie tomorrow, okay? How about you sleep in here? Just for tonight?"

Wanda's face brightened and Heather was shocked for a second by how much she really looked like her and Erik. She had Erik in her blue-gray eyes and in her curls, but that was Heather's smile and her nose.

Just as she laid Wanda down and started to tuck her in, Heather caught sight of Pietro wandering into the room, his brown hair sticking up in every direction, as he rubbed his brown eyes sleepily. "Can I sleep in here too?" He asked, and Heather picked him up, unable to say no.

Charles relocated his bedroom after that, staying as far away from the others' bedrooms as possible. And to try and help, Hank gave some his serum to see if it help with his nightmares.

Charles had seemed at peace at first, more so than he had in a few months, but later that night, the sound of glass breaking filled the hallways.

"Mommy!" Pietro cried out, but Heather shoved him into his sister's room, after the two tried to run to Charles' room - the source of the noise. "No! Stay here! I'll right back!"

Heather and Hank entered the room quickly, and both were horrified by the sight before them. Charles' wheelchair was in the corner of the room, along with shards of broken glass from a vase of some kind. Charles was laying in the middle of the floor, his hands pressed to his ears, his eyes clamped shut.

"Charles," Heather called out softly, making her way slowly to his side. "Charles," she tried again, with no response, except for the whimpers that fell from his lips. "They're driving me mad," he whimpered almost to himself.

The moment Heather placed her hands on Charles' shoulders, she felt intense pain in her mind - she heard screaming, so screaming, and she could feel everyone's pain, oh god, people were pain and she could feel - Hank ripped her away from Charles and Heather let out a few deep breaths, as Hank tried shaking her, his calls of her name falling to ringing ears.

"Heather!" The ringing finally stopped, and she stared at Hank in horror. "What? What did you see?"

Charles sat up at that moment, seeming to be in control of himself once more. "I was overwhelmed by the intensity of others' minds after being under the effect of the serum," he responded gruffly to no one in general, "I'm fine."

"Charles - " Heather started, but the man's eyes snapped to her's and - something was different. He looked broken and wounded, almost like an animal being cornered. "Please leave," he ordered. Heather and Hank stared at him in shock, before he responded louder, "Do I have to repeat myself? Get out."

And so they did.

"Mommy! Come quick! Pietro's hurt!"

Heather's heart skipped a beat and she nearly threw her groceries to ground. "Like need a bandaid hurt or need an ambulance hurt?" She asked, but of course, her four year old had already ran up the stairs, leaving her with no idea on what to expect.

When she finally managed to get upstairs and find her children, Pietro was on the ground, tears pouring down his little puffy face and Heather really wanted to cry to. "What's wrong, honey?" Heather asked, as she kneeled down beside him.

Pietro tried to sit up, but he winced and burst into tears. "We - we were playing tag and - and I hit the door."

Heather blinked at that. "You walked into the door?"

"I - I don't know how," he sobbed, "I was in my room and - and then I was here." That caught her attention. "Did you run?"

"I - I was going to but I hit the d-door."

Now Heather was defiantly curious. "Let me see," she asked, before running her hand along his forehead. It was red and Heather figured he was going to have a nice bruise there (Perfect, she thought, just in time for the first day of school.), but she didn't see anything too bad.

"Let's get you an ice pack, tough guy, then we'll talk more."

After the ice pack and laughter soothed his headache, Hank and Heather led Pietro outside. "Okay, baby, I want you to run for me."

"Why?"

"Just because."

"Why?"

"We wanna to see."

That seemed like a good enough answer, as Pietro nodded his head and - left behind a strong gust of wind. Heather blinked and then blinked again when she noticed her son standing a good ten yards from them. "Did he just - " Hank turned to look at her in shock, before calling out, "Come here, Pietro!"

And he was there in a flash, a toothy grin on his face.

Pietro had super speed.

The next day, Heather noticed something odd while running her hands through Pietro's hair. His roots - were blonde. Not just blonde, but platinum, almost looking white against his pale skin.

"Is it part of his mutation?" She asked Charles, who examined the boy's head himself. "It must be," Charles responded, before ruffling Pietro's hair (throughout the day it was slowly becoming more and more blonde) and sending the giggling boy off to play with his sister.

Heather leaned against Charles' desk, before adding, "Wanda's jealous."

"Mhhm?"

"She's jealous. She keeps trying to run and she's getting angry that she's not running like Pietro." Heather thought of her daughter asking Pietro to teach her how to run like him and getting frustrated to the point of coming inside to ask if Heather could teach her how to talk to ghosts.

"What if she's human? What if she feels alone here? What if she wants to leave?" Maybe Heather was blowing this out of proportions, but she didn't want her daughter to feel worthless or different or - feel bad for being human. Charles let out a chuckle, and Heather sighed. "Don't laugh at me."

"No, no, my dear. Its nice that you're worried for her. But remember, most mutations don't start until puberty. She could still be a mutant." That calmed a few of her fears, though she cracked a smile, adding, "You try telling her that."

Charles let out another laugh and Heather decided that that - that right there - was a sound she had missed dearly.

Her eyes, however, caught the sight of something troublingly. Empty beer cans, empty bottles of alcohol. "Charles," Heather asked, "When did you - "

" - It helps," was all that Charles responded. And Heather shook her head. "Having a drink every so often, that's okay, but Charles, this much alcohol, I don't want you drinking this much, especially with the kids around." Charles put his hands up defensively, a small smile on his face. "Alright. I'll cut down."

Heather straightened Wanda's bow and ran her hand through Pietro's now completely blonde hair for fifth time that morning.

Wanda had the sweetest red dress and Pietro had the cutest overalls, and Heather just wanted to cuddle them and keep them home all day instead of sending them to school - but she really didn't have a choice anymore, especially since she could see the yellow school bus just up the gravel road.

She had walked down the line to stand at the mailbox with them, so that she could give them both one last kiss and hug before they stepped onto the bus.

"Got your back packs?" Heather asked, and the two excitedly spun around, showing off their matching bookbags. "And your lunch?" Their metal lunchboxes had cartoon characters that Heather didn't recognize, but the two seemed to love.

Just as the bus pulled up, Heather wrapped her arms around both of them and took turns pressing kisses to her babies' cheeks. "I love you," she said, as they both giggled and Wanda yelled, "Love you, mommy!", and Pietro shouted, "Love you too!"

Then they both made their way onto the bus and Heather was left standing and waving, feeling a shocking amount of loneliness for the first time in five years.

A few nights later, after the twins had finished their homework and gone to bed, Heather noticed Charles' office light was still on. Entering to playfully tell him off, she was shocked by what she say.

Beer cans, bottles of different kinds of alcohol, and Charles - Charles taking a swig of a bottle of scotch.

"Charles!" Heather called out, feeling rather shocked and angry. The man lowered the bottle, his eyes slowly reaching her's and - now she was defiantly angry. He was completely and utterly drunk.

"I thought I said cut down on the booze," she snapped, and Charles rolled his eyes. "This is my house," he slurred, "I can do what I want."

"I said I didn't want you drinking around them. And I defiantly don't want them to see you like this."

"See me like what? See me not half-insane because of the voices? See me at peace? See me - "

" - Drunk, Charles. I don't want them seeing you drunk."

Charles narrowed his eyes at her. "Maybe you should just leave then," he claimed, his voice icy, and Heather stopped breathing for a moment, her eyes widening. "Maybe I should," she responded, her voice cracking more than she wished it would. And with that, she turned on her heel and exited the room.

She didn't talk to him after that, spending her days in the lab with Hank or being anywhere Charles wasn't, and she kept her kids away from him as much as possible - especially when he now seemed to always be drunk, his entire presense reeking of stale alcohol.

A/N: I'm back!

So, it's been two months since I last wrote a chapter and I'm so sorry for that. As an apology, I wrote not one - but two - chapters.


	15. Author's Note

I want to start this off by apologizing for making such a long author's note; so long that it needed it's own seperate chapter. I feel like a terrible person for not updating for so long and then publishing this. But it was needed - I needed everyone to see this.

This story is still active. I love this story like it's my child and there's no way I'm giving up on it. Junior year just started kicking my ass halfway through this story, and the updates got slower and slower. I needed to make sure that I passed and got into my Senior year, as well as be there for my mom during her divorce.

With school coming to an end and Apocalypse coming out now really helping me get back my utter love for X-Men, I'm proud to say that over the weekend, I'll be updating Not About Angels with a possible 2-3 chapters. Maybe more.

I also want to thank you all for being so patient and loving. You're all the best.

And even more plot details, I'm thinking about adding Lorna Dane into the story as another daughter of Heather and Erik - thoughts?

Thanks. Love you all.


	16. Chapter 15

**CHINA, 2023**

"Whenever the Sentinels attack, Warpath spots them," Kitty began to explain, once they were all settled inside the temple. "Then I send Bishop back to warn us of the attack before it happens. Blink scouts the exit site - and then we leave before they ever know we were there."

"Because we never were," the long haired boy pointed out. Wanda wrinkled her nose in confusion and she opened her mouth to question his statement, but Wolverine beat her to it.

"What do you mean you were never there?"

Charles leaned forward in his wheelchair. "She projects Bishop back in time a few days to warn the others - of the coming attack." Wolverine raised his eyebrow, questioning further, "So she sends Bishop back in time?"

"No," Charles quickly corrected, "Just his consciousness, into his younger self. His younger body."

Pietro let out a low whistle of amazement, just as their father spoke up, his comment directed towards the man beside him. "This might just work, Charles."

"What might work?" Wanda asked in confusion, before Charles began.

"The Sentinel program was originally conceived by Doctor Bolivar Trask. In the early '70's, he was one of the world's leading weapons designers. But, correctly, he had begun experimenting on mutants, using their gifts to fuel his own research. This is extraordinary. There was one mutant who has discovered what he was doing."

Magneto added in a neutral tone, "A mutant with the ability to transform herself into anyone."

"Mystique," Colossus concluded, and the two old men could only shake their heads. Mystique. Wanda could still remember her mother's pain over that topic. Her mother had called her by another name, had called her a sweet girl, but Wanda only knew her as the cold hearted Mystique that had tried two different times to kill her.

"I knew her as Raven," Wanda could hear the pain in Charles' voice as he continued, "We met when we were children, grew up together. She was like a sister to me. I tried to help her - but only succeeded in driving her away. She haunted Trask across the world. And at the Paris Peace Accords in 1973, after the Vietnam War, she found Trask - and killed him. It was the first she killed."

"It wasn't her last," Wolverine added gruffly, but Charles paid no mind. "But killing Trask did not have the outcome expected. It only persuaded the government of the need of hid program. They captured her that day - tortured her, experimented on her. In her DNA, they discovered the secrets to her power. It gave them the key they needed to create weapons that could adapt to any mutant power. And in less than 50 years, the machines that have destroyed so many of our kind were created. But that started that day in 1973 - the day she first killed. The day truly became Mystique."

Understanding what Charles was meaning, Wanda crossed her arms. "You want to go back in time."

"If I can get to her, stop the assassination," Charles added, sounding almost desperate, "Keep her out of their hands - then we can stop the Sentinels from ever being born."

"And end this war before it ever begins," Magneto pointed out, before Kitty squirmed awkwardly next to Bobby. "Uh, I can send someone back a couple weeks. Maybe a month. But you're talking about going back decades. You have the most powerful brain in the world, Professor - but the mind can only stretch so far before it snaps. It would you rip apart." At that, Charles' shoulders sagged, as he glanced down, a discouraging look on his face. Seeing this, Kitty sighed and continued, "I'm sorry. No one could survive that trip."

There was a pause, before Wolverine spoke up. "What if someone's mind has a way of snapping back? What if someone can heal as fast as they're ripped apart?"

Wanda couldn't believe what she was hearing. Glancing around the room, she noticed that everyone was thinking about what was said and those that understood seemed to be agreeing. "Wait," Wanda raised her voice, all eyes in the room drifting over to her, "What if something goes wrong? What if - sorry - he ends up messing the future up more?"

"Well, sis," Pietro started, "Unless you have another plan, I say that this one is worth the try." Wanda silenced at that, knowing that he was right - it was their only chance - but the worry stayed securely in her gut.

 **USA, 1969**

"You know, there's some great houses down here in DC."

Heather sighed, leaning against the wall, her fingers twisting the phone cord. "Joey, I - I can't move down there. The twins just started school, they have friends and - they're comfortable here. I can't take them away from this."

"What's more important, their comfort or their safety?" Heather's shoulders sagged, before Joey continued, "Look, I'll send you some newpaper ads, okay? Just - look through them, please?"

Heather closed her eyes, pausing, before letting out another sigh. "Okay. I will."

* * *

The ads came a week later, and Joey wasn't wrong. The houses were all beautiful and very, very expensive - not that money was an issue; her grandparents had been millionares and had left her with a rather large inheritance, as well as her parents' life insurances policies - something she had been reclucant to even touch.

With the twins being read to by Hank and Charles being god knows where, Heather finally had the chance to sit down with the ads and the phone.

"My favorite one is the on East Court," Joey claimed, and Heather skimmed through the pictures before finding the one Joey was talking about. The house was beautiful, rather modern looking but large and - "Six bedrooms?" Heather asked with a surprise laugh, "Joey, I don't need that many rooms."

"Hey, the kids would get a playroom to themselves."

"No, Joey," Heather laughed, using her marker to take an X through the picture of the house. "Fine," Joey grumbled and Heather couldn't help but laugh once more, the sound of his voice reminding her of a mad toddler.

The next one had four bedrooms - something Heather could handle - but the blue siding threw the two off. Joey pointed out another one, but the yard was tiny and there was just too much space inside of the house for Heather's taste.

The third one from the top, however, caught her eye.

It was two stories tall, simple tan siding and even a small porch up in the front. It was listed with five bedrooms and three bathrooms, and even if Heather disliked so much unused space, she figured it wouldn't hurt to look through the house. "What about North Court Street one?"

"North Cour - Oh, it's nice, I guess. Kind of plain looking in my opinion."

"Joey, I'm not planning on buying a mansion."

"Come on, Feather, let me live through you, its - "

Heather interrupted him, the phone tucked between her ear and shoulder, as she scribbled down the number near the ad, "I think I'm going to call them and schedule a visit." A sigh sounded through the phone, before Joey responded, "I guess I can deal with it. Go on, give 'em a call."

* * *

A tour through the house proved that it was everything they needed - by the end, both twins were running through the smaller bedrooms, claiming one before finding another they liked better. Their excitement over the new houses calmed Heather's nerves about uprooting them and made her decision a little easier.

With both twins bundled up at her side, she signed the paperwork and shook hands with the older man. Over the next week, she traveled back and forth between New York and Washington, trying to pack and make appearances at meetings with her attorney, as well as shop for new furniture. After all, the furniture she and the twins had been using was Charles and his family's - and she wasn't petty, she wasn't taking any of it.

The lawyers came to an agreement on October 15, 1969 and the house was finally Heather's.

The next day, she loaded the last of the kids' clothes into the back of her car and watched as the twins said their goodbyes.

A now human looking Hank grabbed his arms around Pietro, before opening them a little wider for a sobbing Wanda. Charles sat up on the porch, his eyes watching the scene before him with no emotion - just emptiness. Not that it surprised Heather, he had become distant following the night Heather had caught him drunk. He barely spoke to Hank but chose to ignore Heather and the twins - and that was the rare days when he decided to leave his room.

Heather picked up her bawling twins, with each cry they let out tugging at her heartstrings. Placing them in the back seat of the car, she closed the door and made her way back over to Hank.

The two hugged tightly, no words being exchanged at first, before Heather finally broke the silence. "You're always welcome at our house. The twins - they'd love to see you."

"I don't know if I should leave him alone."

"Just - take care of yourself, Hank." Heather could feel her throat closing up with emotion, her eyes beginning to blur with tears. Hank responded to that by holding her tighter and after a moment, the two let go of each other.

"Goodbye, Hank."

"Goodbye, Heather."

As Heather made her way back to her car, she turned to look back and caught Charles' gaze. The two stared wordlessly at each other and for a second, Heather considered saying something - anything. But the man on the porch wasn't the Charles she knew. The man that had made her feel like she belonged, that stood by her side - was gone, only a shell remained. Her words would mean nothing to _him_.

So she turned away.

* * *

A/N: Not the best, but I wanted to get it over with (this chapter has kind of been a thorn in my side for a while). Things are going to start picking up in the next few chapters.


	17. Chapter 16

Heather tried to be strong for the twins.

In the morning, she'd go into each of their rooms and wake them up - if they resisted, she kissed their chubby cheeks and tickled their sides until they shrieked with laughter. Once they were awake, they demanded to do things themselves - Wanda would whine until she was allowed to pick her own clothes out and even if he wasn't tall enough to look into the mirror, Pietro would insist he would brush his teeth.

She would cook breakfast while they were getting ready. Sometimes she'd go all out, spending a good chunk of her morning making pancakes, bacon and eggs. Other mornings, she could barely drag herself out of bed, let alone make a fancy breakfast - a bowl of cereal would have to do.

By the time they had eaten and grabbed everything they needed for the day, the bus would already be rolling down the street, coming to a screeching halt in front of their house.

Heather would kiss each of them not once - but twice - and would smile and watch the two bounce eagerly onto the waiting bus, just in case one of them turned to look back at her. When the bus finally would drive away, she could usually feel herself deflate.

Some days, she could convince herself she was okay - she could unpack and do some housework, even read a little and catch up on some soap operas.

She could tell herself that Sean wasn't buried in some ditch in Vietnam, that she didn't have to see her students in body bags and coffins, that Alex would come home, that Charles hadn't become a stranger to her. But the other days, it wasn't easy to pretend.

On those days, she'd curl up into a ball on the couch and wonder if she curled into herself enough, could she disappear. It would last until she heard the sound of a slamming door and two excited voices, and the game of pretend would begin again - with a smile on her face, she would greet her babies with kisses.

* * *

One day, a month after they had moved in, she noticed something was wrong with Wanda.

She had left for school like she normally did - all smiles and giggles - but when she arrived home, she was lagging behind her brother, trudging along. Her lips were pouting and her little eyebrows were pulled together in confusion. "What's wrong, buttercup?" Heather asked. Wanda could be overdramatic at times, she reasoned with herself, Pietro beat her in a race or maybe a classmate took her crayon.

Wanda was silent and that, for Heather, was a sign that this was bigger and badder than race or a crayon. But she didn't push - she made dinner like usual, helped the two with their homework before she tucked Pietro in and kissed him on the top of his blonde head.

Finally, she made her way to Wanda's room. The little girl was already in her red nightie, her Raggedy Ann doll and teddy bear by her side in bed. She looked less heartbroken now, but something was still off. Uneasy, Heather sat on the edge of the bed, before asking, "Baby, what's wrong?"

Wanda hesitated, before her sweet voice finally rang out. "Do I have a daddy?"

The question surprised Heather. "What?"

Wanda let out a sigh, sitting up quickly, before she ranted, "Today at school, Willy come over and he asked what my mommy and daddy's names were, so I told him that I had a mommy named Heather and four uncles, but he said that uncles don't count and then I said I don't have a daddy but then Willy said you _had_ to have a daddy."

Heather's heart stopped. She knew this day would come, she just knew it, but she hadn't prepared for this. She didn't know what to say. She couldn't tell her the truth, she wouldn't understand and - and they had no way of knowing that Wanda was going to be a mutant. Hearing that her father was human hating terrorist would hurt her in so many ways. She couldn't do that to her girl.

"So do I?

Heather was so caught up in her thoughts that she had forgotten about the anxiously waiting 6 year old in front of her. She let out a deep breath, preparing herself for the worst. "Yes, you do."

"Where is he?"

"He, um, had to go away - for a little while."

Wanda paused, taking in this new information, before questioning sadly, "Did he leave 'cause he didn't like me?" Heather blinked in shock, before quickly responding, "No, no, sweetheart, never. He didn't leave because of you or your brother. He left - he left because he was in trouble."

"Trouble?" Heather wanted to curse herself out. "We'll - we'll talk about it when you get older, okay? It's bedtime, baby."

"But I'm not tired," said Wanda, right before she let out a big yawn. Heather couldn't help but smile softly at the sight, before she tucked the little girl (and her toys, of course) in. "Mommy?" the small voice came, just as Heather was turning to close the door.

"Yes, dear?"

"Will daddy come home soon?"

Heather's heart hurt and the innocence in her daughter's voice made it only worse. She didn't want to lie, but she didn't want to tell the truth. Both would hurt. Trying to keep her voice from cracking, she whispered, "Maybe, baby girl."

* * *

Erik wasn't mentioned very frequently after that - sometimes here and there, the twins would want to know something about him, whether it was his eye color, his favorite food or even if he believed in Santa Claus. Somethings she couldn't answer, which just continued to remind her that she'd only known the man for a month before he left.

She never did tell them his name.

She knew that some day, the government would reveal that Erik Lehnsherr did, in fact, kill President Kennedy and if her children would be watching the news report at the time or even going to any history class afterwards, they'd have to live with the fact that that was their father. So she guarded that fact for them.

'Maybe' and 'When you're older' became her go-to statements when discussing Erik.

* * *

Her children grew before her eyes.

Size wise, of course. The two were close in height, but Pietro had Wanda beat by two inches. Wanda's curls were long and almost unruly, but she liked it that way - after all, it was in style. Pietro wanted to grow his hair out ("Like Jim Morrison, mom," he'd gush) but whenever he'd try, it would look too messy and gross for Heather to handle. Maybe she needed to 'get with the times', but she still preferred the hair of the 60's.

Pietro was still interested in video games and rock music, and Wanda with her stuffed animals and Barbies, but when they turned 8 in the summer of '71, Heather gave them more freedom. They'd go for bike rides with their friends and sometimes run over to the neighbors' pool and play there. They were always home by supper, but Heather barely saw the two during the afternoon. While being alone hurt, she knew that she couldn't hold onto them forever.

* * *

It was that same summer that Wanda's powers finally made their appearance.

Heather had just started supper when the back screen door slammed open. "You guys are home early," she hummed, before turning away from the stove to find -

\- Both twins looking pale as a sheet.

The smile Heather had had on her face was gone in a flash. She turned the burner off, before facing the two of them again. "What's wrong? What happened?" Her words triggered a flood of emotions. Wanda began sobbing, as Pietro began to ramble on in a fast pace, so fast that Heather couldn't understand a single thing he was saying.

Her arms wrapped around her daughter, holding the little girl closely, before she stopped Pietro midsentence. "Sweetheart, sweetheart," she said franatically, "Slow down. Tell me again. What's wrong?"

Pietro took a huge breath, before repeating himself, slowly this time. "We were playing and his 6th grader came over to us and started being mean. Then Gordy got mouthy with him and started beating on him and - Wanda - it was like a red swirl or - or a beam, mom. And it shot right out from her hand and it hit him."

She pulled away from her snuffling daughter, looking down at her in shock. After all this time, she had thought Wanda was a human but - here was the proof. With her body changing so much and with the stress she was under, her mutation finally showed itself.

"Baby, it's okay," Heather claimed, hugging her tightly, "We'll figure it out, okay? You'll be okay, we'll be okay."

* * *

Wanda's power had the tendency to flare up when she was upset.

At first, it would only appear when she was having a temper tantrum or when she was very stressed. By the end of it, Heather had been tossed around a few times by the 'red swirls' that came from Wanda's hands. And for the first time in a while, she wished that Charles hadn't closed the school - Wanda needed help with controlling her power.

But Heather would stop that train of thought, she was a teacher at that school once. She could help her child.

And slowly, over the next few months, Heather helped Wanda with her anger. She couldn't stop it all together, but they started a method - close your eyes, count to ten. After some time, it worked. Wanda would calm down and no one or nothing was sent flying across the room.

Soon enough, Wanda was able to access her power without being angry - though when she would pick objects up, they would only float for a while, otherwise they were very shakey.

It didn't matter to Wanda though. There was always a big grin on her face whenever a dish successfully landed in the sink or her Barbie flew directly into her hand, and she'd always whip around to look at Heather, to see if she was watching.

* * *

One afternoon in April, the doorbell rang.

Heather stood up from the living room floor, where she and the kids had been sitted, a board game out in front of them. Pietro groaned. "Mom, it's your turn," he insisted, but Heather just laughed.

The doorbell ringing didn't raise any alarms for Heather, but when she opened the door and saw who was standing there, she froze in her place.

Before her stood Hank, a man she didn't recognize, and - Charles. A walking, standing, messy looking Charles.

She didn't focus too much on Charles; even if his shades covered his eyes, she could still see his empty gaze - so similar to his mother's. She instead turned her gaze to the man she didn't know. He looked like a bodybuilder and his hair was spiked up in two places, reminding Heather of horns. He looked her up in down, with a look of shock and something she didn't recognize.

But she still felt the need to cross her arms and cover her chest. "Can I help you?" she asked, wishing she could sound more initimating.

"You can, actually," Charles' English accent was still so evident and with the way he was speaking, Heather didn't know if he was upset or drunk. No, she really didn't care. "May we come in?" For a second, Heather considered slamming the door in their faces - have them take that as a h to e to l to l no.

But Hank hadn't done anything to her.

So she spared them, opening the door wider and letting them in.

"What's this about?" She questioned, before Hank and Charles looked at the man expectingly. The man glanced at them both before sighing. "Look, this is going to be hard to explain, just listen, you got it?" Heather nodded, and the man pulled a cigar out of his pocket and put it in his mouth. "No smoking in my house," she commented simply and the man gave her a dirty look before continuing, "Boy, is this getting repetitive. I'm from the future. Charles sent me back to stop Mystique from killing Trask. We need to get Erik out of the Pentagon. Get it?"

The man brought a lighter to the cigar and a rage - not just from the smoking but from the stories he claimed - came over her. She felt the familiar warmth through her body and she didn't even bother stopping it. The man jumped, her astral powers shocking him, and looked at her wildly, as she glared at him. "I said no smoking in my house."

"Do you understand?" Hank asked nervously, and Heather let out a harsh laugh. "Understand what? That you guys are trying to pull my leg? Yeah, I understand. Now get out of my house."

"Heather, please - "

" - No, wait," the man said, recovering from the zap. He looked her in the eyes and spoke in a soft tone, "If we don't stop her, everyone you know, including yourself, is going to suffer. You're going to lose - " The man paused, like he was suddenly nervous about sharing something, " - a lot of friends and family. Your kids are going to suffer."

Heather froze at that.

"Let's say - I choose to believe you. What if the future doesn't change? What if you're releasing a - a criminal for nothing?" The man grunted at that, "We won't know until we try, won't we, toots?" Heather had the urge to shock him again, but a look from Hank stopped her. A sudden gust of air beside her shocked her, especially when another came after Pietro threw himself at Hank.

"Oh, and we'll need him too."

"No."

"Heather - "

" _No_. You can involve me in this stupid mission, but not my kids."

"Heather," Hank said, his voice rather calm, "He'll be safe." Heather snapped at him, "How do you know?"

"Kid's fast," the man responded, "He'd overrun anything that tried to catch him." Heather looked at her son, confusion written all over this face, and - and even if it pained her, she knew he was right. She knew she couldn't leave Wanda alone at home and with her unprediability with her powers she wouldn't be safe - but if she waited in the car, she'd be okay. She'd be fine. After a moment, Heather glanced over the three men's faces, before letting out a big sigh.

"Fine."


	18. Chapter 17

They went over the plan twice on the drive to the Pentagon.

Hank would use a device to distract the people monitoring the cameras, Heather, Logan, and Charles would make their way through the halls while Pietro would steal a pair of keys and run to the location of Erik's cell. And Wanda would stay in the car.

It was truly a sign that she had raised her kids right when both of them questioned whether or not this was a bad thing to do. It made her feel a little proud - and also a little ashamed of herself when she explained that while yes, this was all very illegal and a very bad thing, it was for a - old friend and it was going to help save a lot of people (at least she hoped).

She didn't want to think about Pietro having to run through a heavily guarded (and heavily armed) area or the fact that the man he was saving was his terrorist father. Her kids were going to have to be face to face with him and - and the truth was going to come out. Either Erik would do the math or her kids would ask one too many questions; it didn't matter how much she kicked or screamed in this battle, she had lost already.

She thought about telling the twins quickly but she didn't know what to say or even the proper way to approach the situation, so Heather kept her mouth closed.

* * *

When they reached the Pentagon, Wanda changed her mind.

"I wanna go with Pietro," she whined, "I don't want him to be alone." Heather let out a sigh, kneeling down and looking up into Wanda's eyes. "Baby, Pietro's going to be fine."

"I don't wanna be alone," she corrected, suddenly looking rather timid and nervous, and - and Heather had to remind herself that the twins were only 8 and they were asking a lot of them. She almost wanted to cry at the sight of her usually loud and fearless girl looking so - terrified. Heather wrapped her arms tightly around her and regretted dragging her babies into this mess.

"She can come with me," a voice came from behind her.

Heather pulled away from Wanda, looking at Hank in shock. "Are you sure?"

Hank nodded. "It'll be safe - " He stopped, before correcting himself, " - Well, the safest." Heather glanced back at her daughter, asking, "Would you like to go with Hank?"

Wanda nodded wildly, before rushing out of her mother's arms to stand by Hank. Heather turned her attention to Pietro and the worry began to overcome her. She quickly gave him one final hug, knowing that they needed to continue the plan, but also knowing that something - anything - could go wrong and if it did, she wanted her son to know she loved him.

She just hoped it didn't come to that.

* * *

"Built in 1943, the Pentagon is the world's largest office buildings, housing more than 25,000 employees stretched out over six million square feet."

Wanda hated tours.

She didn't hate museums or historial places like this one, she just hated when someone dragged her around and made her listen to a bunch of boring facts. It didn't make it any better that they were on a mission - in fact, it made it worse.

Of all places to hide a bad guy, that had to choose here? Not some cool lair with sharks like the bad guys on television?

Wanda shook her head, trying to stop her nervous rambling, and felt her mother squeeze her hand. Oh no. She knew what this meant. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Uncle Charles and Logan leave the group and - a flare of panic - her mom glanced at her and flashed a reassuring smile, before joining them.

Part of Wanda wanted to stop and start crying for her mom. It wasn't like she didn't like or trust her uncle Hank, she really did - she'd missed him after all this time - but she wanted her mom, she wanted her hugs and her smiles and her reassuring 'it'll be okay's. Her's, for some reason, were always the best.

The other part took control, though.

"Stop being a baby," she thought to herself, "If you get upset, your powers will start up again and bad things will happen."

She shivered at the thought of how strong her powers could get if she lost control, especially in a place with so many people (she thought about how big Randy's eyes got after he was hit, how he backed away from her when she tried to come closer, the fear in his eyes when she reached out for him) and reached for Hank's hand, holding it nervously.

* * *

Things always seemed so slow for Pietro when he ran.

The elevator dragged itself open at the speed of a turtle and each step the man took onto it seemed to last 10 seconds each. For a moment, Pietro was concerned he was going to crash into the man's back but he luckily swerved last minute, coming to stand near the buttons of the elevator.

Now that he wasn't running, everything went back to normal.

The man blinked a few times, before he glanced back at Pietro and - he couldn't help it. He gave the man a grin before - remembering the science project he had done - he grabbed the duct tape out of his pocket. The man was twice his size and weight, but Pietro was smaller and quicker, and within a few seconds, the man secured to the wall of the elevator.

Pietro stepped back and examined his handy work, rather proud of how well it worked out.

When the elevator doors finally opened, Pietro hid behind one of the walls and peeked out. With one glance outside, he realized how difficult the plan had just become. The walls of the hallway were lined with guards - and Pietro pressed his back against the wall trying not to panic.

He could try and run as fast as he could past them and hope it worked, or he could try on the guard's outfit and - no, that wouldn't work, the outfit would be too big and they'd be able to tell that he was a kid. The first option he decided quickly - before he turned to the duct taped guard and whispered, "Wish me luck."

Pietro paused once the doors of the dark room closed. He listened closely for any yells or footsteps and, when he didn't hear any, he let out a whoop of excitement - forgetting momentarily that he needed to be quiet.

His eyes were drawn towards the big glass windows in the ground, the only light source in the whole room. The brightness of the room below his feet made his eyes hurt, but he still slowly made his way to kneel beside it.

The room was white and bare of anything - besides a gray sleeping cot and a sleeping man. The man's uniform was gray, not like the orange ones Pietro had been in the movies, and with the way he was laying - hands folded, face so peaceful - he could have sworn the man was dead.

Staring at the man, Pietro began to wonder what he had done to go to prison - not just that, what he had done to become the only prisoner in the Pentagon. He knew he wasn't supposed to question it (though when his mom had said that, she'd looked so conflicted) but he couldn't help it. Something about this man - Pietro couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe it was just him being super curious or some weird coincidence, but something about him seemed almost familar and Pietro wanted to know why. He just wanted to know.

Raising his fist, Pietro knocked on the thick glass. It took a few tries but finally, the man's eyes fluttered open and caught Pietro's gaze. The man looked dazed at first, blinking a few times - like he thought Pietro was some sort of dream - but when he didn't disappear, he started to look downright bewildered.

Pietro tried to sign for him to move against the wall, even yelling "Mind the glass," but the man didn't listen - in fact, he did the opposite, walking towards the center to stare at the boy more.

He sighed, not wanting the man to get seriously hurt by glass, but Pietro needed to hurry. So he pressed his palms against the window panes and squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel the glass shaking violently underneath his hands and before he knew it, the sound of glass shattering filled the room. His eyes flew open, just as the alarms started to go off.

Pietro started to panic.

He knew what he needed to do, he knew where he needed to go, he knew he was faster than all of them - he was faster than a bullet. But he was 8 and breaking a bad man out of prison and people were going to kill him - oh god, people were going to try to kill him and they weren't going to care that he was a kid or that he wanted to be a football captain when he grew up or that he loved Scooby-Doo.

They didn't care because all they were going to see was a criminal.

He jumped when the man jumped and grabbed the edge of the cell, climbing out of it. "In three seconds," the man spoke and Pietro had no idea what kind of accent he had - but it was cool, "Those doors are going to open and twenty guards will be here to shoot us."

Pietro gulped at that. "I know," he tried to keep a confident tone, "That's what I'm waiting for."

He ran to the man's side and - he panicked again. The man was a giant compared to him - atleast two feet taller and much bulkier than Pietro, he realized quickly that this plan had just become a little more difficult. He bit his lip, eyes darting around as he tried to figure out a solution, before he threw his arms around the man.

The man stiffened. "What are you doing?"

"Just trust me," Pietro took a deep breathe, preparing himself to run. "Um, can you - can you put your hand behind your head? I really don't want you getting whiplash."

"What?"

"Whiplash."

Just then, the doors opened, exposing light and several armed officers and - it was now or never. Pietro held on tightly and he did what he did best - he ran.

It took them barely two seconds to get to the elevator.

Once the door had closed, the man - Erik, Erik, that's what Uncle Charles had called him - leaned against the wall, looking rather pale. Pietro, on the other hand, felt amazing - he felt the rush he usually felt from running, but also a new sensation. Like he could rob a bank.

Though he knew his mom would probably ground him until death if he did.

Glancing at Erik, he assured him, "Don't worry, it'll pass. It happens to everyone." He nodded then, still facing away from Pietro and - and the curiousity from before was starting the bubble up again. He tried to take stay quiet, but he wanted - no, needed - to know.

"You must've done something serious," Pietro questioned, trying to sound as innocent as possible, "What you do?" Silence, then he tried once more. "What you do?" Again - more silence. A little frustrated from lack of answers, he asked, "Why did they have you in there?"

"For killing the President."

Pietro's eyes widened. A murderer? They'd set a murderer free? He wondered briefly if stopping the elevator and running Erik back to his cell would be such a bad idea. After all, how was he supposed to save a much of people if he killed someone?

"But," he continued, stopping Pietro's train of thought, "The only thing I'm guilty of, it's fighting for people like us."

"How? Do you know karake?"

"I don't know karake. But I know crazy."

* * *

The sprinklers in the kitchen sent the staff scurrying.

Heather wiped the water from her eyes and face, as she tried to avoid the fleeing employees and listen to Charles' mindless ramble at the same time. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, this is a Code Red situation. We are evacuating the entire floor... so that my associates and I... can, uh, secure the prison."

The elevator towards the prison was in her sights, but so were two guards. One of them spoke up in a deep voice. "Who are you?"

"We're special operations, CB... FB-CID," Charles continued, and Heather wanted nothing more than to slam her face into one of the stainless steel counters, "Perhaps you didn't hear me when I first spoke... but it is imperative that you understand... we're in a complete lockdown situation. We have to get you to the third floor - "

With that, Logan attacked the two men, taking both down without too much of fight. Heather stared at the man in surprise, just as he turned back to Charles. "Oh, I'm sorry," he snapped, "Were you finished?"

Charles looked a little shaken by that, before he quickly went to the men's sides, digging in their pockets until he discovered the key for the elevator. "I'm sorry," Charles responded, "I'm just not very good with violence."

It was at that moment that the doors opened to reveal - Pietro and Erik.

"Charles?"

Within a second, Erik was on the ground and Charles was nursing a bruised hand. Heather stared at the two in shock, as her son rushed to her side. Her arm wrapped around Pietro's shoulder, pulling him a little closer, and while she was overjoyed to see him (and see that he was fine), her attention mainly remained on the fight before her.

"Good to see you too, old friend," Erik retorted, wiping the side of his mouth, before nodding towards Charles' legs, "And walking."

"No thanks to you."

"You're the last person in the world I expected to see today."

"Believe me - I wouldn't be here if I didn't have to," Charles nearly growled, "If we get you out of here, we do it my way. No killing." Erik smugly gestured to his head. "No helmet. I couldn't disobey you even if I wanted." Charles suddenly moved closer to Erik, snapping, "I'm never getting inside of that head again. I need your word, Erik."

After a moment, Erik nodded.

Before his gaze left Charles' face and met Heather's.

Something about it changed just then. He suddenly looked more surprised and - if possible, a little gentler. "Heather?" he questioned and before Heather could respond or even let out the breath she was holding, she heard a sudden "Nobody move! Hold it right there!".

Charles and Erik left the elevator, coming to stand near Logan, Pietro, and Heather, as they all faced a large amount of armed guards. Heather tighted her grip on Pietro and the panic began to set in.

"Charles," Erik called.

"Don't move. Hands up, or we will shoot!"

"Freeze them, Charles."

"I can't," the man almost sounded in tears and after a moment, everything metal in the room began to shake violently and - and Heather could hear the gun shots and part of her wondered if this was the end, if her son's short life would end here, if her own would end, and what Wanda would face as an orphan.

But everything happened so fast.

Suddenly, the guards were collapsing and the bullets - the bullets missed them and her arms were empty. A quick glance ahead of her, however, revealed Pietro removing his headphones from his ears, a big grin on his face, and Heather had never felt more proud of her son.

"Thanks, kid," Logan ruffled Pietro's hair, as they all began to rush through the door.

* * *

Hank and Wanda were already in the car by the time they reached it.

Heather nearly shoved her son into the backseat with his sister, before cramming herself inside. Erik found himself in the front seat beside Logan and Hank, and it was only after they had began driving away that he glanced behind him.

"Who are the children?"

Heather - oh god, she couldn't do this, she couldn't, not in front of all of them, not in a metal vehicle. She felt Wanda's little hand hold her's a little tighter and Heather wanted to puke. "None of your goddamn business," Charles suddenly answered, much to Heather's shock, "Now shut up and turn around."

* * *

Today (June 14th) is officially the 1 year anniversary of Not About Angels.

So, once again, big thank yous to everyone who has read/liked/favorited/commented/reviewed. You guys are sometimes the only things that make me get off my lazy ass and write.

Off topic of my writing, I rarely talk about things like this during chapters but it has affected me deeply: Please keep your thoughts with the people who were killed and hurt in the Orlando nightclub shooting.

Thank you. xx


	19. Chapter 18

With Erik and Logan already on board the plane, and Charles and Hank waiting patiently for them, Heather stopped the twins when they both tried to hurry onto the steps of the plane.

"No," Heather called out, "You're not coming with, I'm taking you both to Joey's."

"What?" Wanda cried out, her brother looking equally confused. "But mom, we could help," Pietro insisted, "We did really good back at the Pentagon."

"I know you did," Heather sighed, "But you've been in enough dangerous situations today to last you for the next lifetime. So its a no."

"But - "

" - No buts. Get in the car now." Her voice turned stern and seeing her kids so - visibly crushed, she softly added, "Please." Reclutantly, the two moved towards the car, just as Charles' voice rang out. "You two can come." Heather's neck almost broke from how fast she whipped around to face the man. "Come along then. Best not to waste anymore time."

The twins didn't even wait for Heather's response. "I'll race you on the plane," Pietro claimed, his careless grin returning, before he ran off, leaving nothing behind but a gust of wind. "Pietro," Wanda screeched, as she rushed onto the stairs, "That isn't fair!"

Heather had no idea what to even say.

But when she looked back at Charles, the rage inside of her boiled over. She stomped over to where he was standing and pointed her finger at him, anger making it almost shake. " _I'm_ their mother," Heather nearly growled, " _I'll_ decide what's best for them. They are not your kids. Don't you _ever_ veto my decision again, do you understand?"

Hank coughed awkwardly, looking away from the scene, while Charles continued to look rather unfazed.

And with a huff, she finally boarded the plane.

* * *

The beginning of the flight was - awkward, to say the least.

No one said a single word, tension so thick in the air, even the twins squirmed uncomfortably in their seats. Heather tried to focus on looking outside her window, but only the ocean sat below them and it became boring after a while.

Hank was flying the plane and Logan was sat in the back of plane, a cigar in his hand, while Charles sat almost directly in front of Erik - glaring coldly at the older man. Not even looking up, Erik spoke the first words of the flight, questioning, "How did you lose them?"

"The treatment for my spine affects my DNA."

"You sacrificed your powers so you could walk?" Erik looked at Charles, looking utterly bewildered by the answer. Charles countered, "I sacrificed my powers so I could sleep," The man stopped, choking up towards the end, before he continued, "What do you know about it?"

"I've lost my fair share."

Charles let out a cold laugh. "Dry your eyes, Erik. It doesn't justify what you've done."

"You have no idea what I've done."

"I know you took the things that meant the most to me."

"Well maybe you should have fought harder for them."

Charles, his eyes almost blurry with tears, stood up suddenly. "If you want a fight Erik, I will give you a fight!" Logan, noticing that twins were looking scared from the outburst, called out from seat, "Sit down!" Erik, however, stood as well, and raised his arm out - as if to stop Logan from intervining. "Let him come," he stated simply.

Charles rushed forward, seizing Erik by the front of his shirt. "You abandoned me! You took her away and you abandoned me!" Without even blinking, Erik responded, "Angel. Azazel. Emma." The plane - shook a little, the movements becoming more and more intense the angrier Erik got. "Banshee. Mutant brothers and sisters, all dead!"

He's doing this, Heather realized, just as the metal of the plane began to dent, like it was caving in on itself, and as it began to fall. The twins rushed to her side, clinging on her so tightly Heather could feel the bruises forming. But she only brought them closer to her. "Countless others experimented on, butchered!"

"Erik!" Hank cried out, but it didn't break him out of his rant. "Where were you, Charles?! We were supposed to protect them!" He yelled, as Charles fell onto the couch, trying to stablize himself, "Where were you when your own people needed you?! Hiding! You and Hank! Pretending to be something you're not!"

Heather could hear her daughter's sobs and knowing that she needed to do something quickly, she helplessly cried out, "Erik!"

"You abandoned us all," he added, in a still angry but softer tone. Slowly, the plane's dents began to correct themselves and it started to rise once more. Heather let out a shaky breath, watching Charles walk towards the cockpit, closing the door behind him.

Her attention quickly turned to the terrified children in her arms - but not before her gaze met Erik's. She looked away rather quickly, not wanting his eyes to convey his apologies or anything really. "Shh, it's okay," she tried to reassure them, "Everything's okay."

"So, you were always an asshole," Logan said breathlessly, reaching for a new cigar and his lighter. "I take it we're best buddies in the future," Erik snapped, and Logan let out a quick chuckle, before seeming to reminisce - almost like it was a fond memory of his. "I spent a lot of years trying to bring you down. bub."

"How does that work out for you?"

"You're like me. You're a survivor." The man took one hit from his cigar, before he waved at the glass on the ground. "Wanna pick all that shit up?"

* * *

After the twins settled down and most of the debris was cleaned up, Heather started to relax a little. Pietro lounged in one of the seats, his eyes glued to the superhero comic in his hands, while his toy cars were spread aimlessly below his feet. Wanda sat near him, her tongue stuck out in concentration as she carefully colored inbetween the lines of her coloring book.

Heather was rather thankful that she'd made the kids back overnight bags - even if the intention was for them to stay at Joey's. The toys they had insisted on packing were coming in handy now, keeping them both content and busy.

She didn't even notice Erik sitting beside her until he let out a cough.

They both stayed silent for a moment, as Heather had no idea what to even say to the man. After all, the last time she'd seen him, they'd both been naked - she stopped that train of thought quickly, a sudden feeling of embarrassment overcoming her, before she reminded herself that he had also left the next morning, no note or anything.

"Are those your children?"

Heather paused for a moment, realizing that they were moving closer and closer to the reveal. "Yes, they're mine," she replied softly, her eyes leaving the twins. He hummed at that, looking away from them as well to meet her gaze, before asking, "What are their names?"

"Pietro and Wanda."

Erik blinked, looking suddenly confused, and Heather almost laughed at how utterly bewildered he looked, almost like the names themselves had shocked him so bad. "What?" She questioned, "They're odd names, I know, but they're - rather fitting. They can't be that bad?"

"No, no," Erik insisted, "It's just - It's nothing." Heather raised her eyebrows and Erik faltered. "I've just - heard the names before," before Heather could question him further, he quickly added, a surprisingly soft smile on his face, "And they are rather fitting, for children so unique."

There was a pause and Heather knew, she just knew what was coming next.

"Who's their father?"

Heather closed her eyes, wondering if she squeezed them tight enough, she would wake herself up and she'd be back home - and that all of this was a nightmare.

"Am I their father?"

Her stomach dropped and she felt like she was stuck in a freefall. There was no avoiding this - she couldn't fight it anymore. It was no nightmare, nothing that she could pinch herself and wake up from. Letting out a shaky breath, Heather opened her eyes slowly, fixing her gaze on Erik's face, before whispering, "Yes."

Erik's face was blank for a few seconds after her response - as if his mind was still trying process the new information - before he blinked, a look of realization crossing his face, as he looked away from Heather, almost like he was trying to hide his reaction from her, his fists clunching and unclunching. "Why didn't you tell me?" It was a harsh whisper, but Heather could hear the hurt in his voice.

"I wanted to," she answered quickly, "We tried, but Emma - " Erik froze at the mention of the name, " - She stopped us. She didn't want us contacting you. She threatened the kids." And Heather was choking up, memories of the time, of her fears, of the ice cold voice in her head were coming back so quickly. "She said you didn't have time to play as a daddy." Erik turned back to her and he looked almost angry. For a split second, Heather was worried he was furious with her, but instead he grabbed her hand. "She was wrong to do that. I - If I had known, Heather, I swear I would've - " Erik cursed in German for a good minute, before looking back at her and - Heather could see so many different emotions on his face, but mainly, she saw the frustation and grief.

And suddenly Heather saw the situation from his side.

He had gone the last 9 years not knowing he had children and he had missed everything: their births, their first words, first steps, all of their birthdays, every event in their tiny lives. He stood as a stranger in front of them now - even worse, he was a criminal to them, someone Heather would warn them about, tell them to stay away from.

"Do they know?"

"No."

"Can - " Erik started, suddenly looking rather nervous, "Can I - talk to them?"

If he had asked an answer ago, Heather would have probably responded with a no but instead she nodded slowly. Erik stood up slowly from his spot and after glancing back at Heather briefly, he made his way over to the twins. He hesitated for a second, before sitting beside Wanda.

Heather tried not to listen in to their conversations, knowing that Erik needed to have some alone time - some quality bonding time - with the kids. But she could still hear bits and pieces. She heard them make small talk at first, and after Wanda innocently asked if he was a really a bad guy, she heard Erik defeat himself - he heard a side of the story she or the public had never heard.

Erik claimed he hadn't done it, that someone else did, he was trying to save the President. The way he said it - Heather almost believed him and she wanted to. There was no internal struggle for their twins, however; the two of them seemed convinced of his innocence and even Heather knew it was a perfect time for the bombshell - the twins looked surprised and Wanda almost looked like she was going to burst into tears.

But just as Heather was going to go comfort her daughter, the little girl threw her arms around Erik's waist. "I knew you'd come back," she cried out, "I just knew it, I just knew you'd come back for us!"

The two chattered on excitedly with Erik, asking the questions they'd been dying to ask him for years. Erik even demonstrated his power for them, with Wanda claiming she would do the same. Heather sat up at that, looking away from her novel, and even Logan looked oddly nervous at that.

Wanda held up her hands and closed her eyes tightly, concentrating. Just as Heather opened her mouth, the red swirls began to dance around Wanda's fingertips, her little hands almost shaking as Pietro's toy cars lifted in the air - similar to what her father had done - but something wasn't right. Heather had never seen the red swirls reflect in her daughter's eyes - and never so intensely. Suddenly, one of the cars compressed itself and Heather called out, "Wanda!"

The spell seemed to be broken, all the cars falling the ground as Wanda blinked repeatedly.

* * *

With the kids resting until they reached a hotel room with beds in Paris, Heather rested her eyes as well, though she was fading in and out of sleep.

She hadn't heard Charles come out of the cockpit and she hadn't heard the beginning of the two's conversation, but she did hear something about Raven - and it made her heart a little heavier. Even if she had barely known her, she'd come to consider her a friend - maybe even go so far as to call her the sister she'd never had.

As she faded back to sleep, she thought of the blue skinned girl and she thought of how they would save her.

* * *

When she woke back up, only Logan and Erik were awake in the back.

"Well, if it isn't Sleeping Beauty," Logan laughed and Heather didn't miss the almost dirty look Erik threw towards the other man.

Heather rubbed her eyes silently, before glancing over at her sleeping kids and - she noticed that they were arranged differently, more comfortably, and with blankets covering them. "Wanda seemed cold," Erik claimed suddenly, noticing where Heather was looking.

"She does get cold easily," Heather stated, trying not to burst from the happiness and just how adorable Erik caring for her - their kids was. "Thank you."

Erik shrugged, but his eyes stayed on the twins, as if they would age a year if he looked else where.

It was silent for a while and, glancing at Logan, Heather wondered about something. "What happens to the twins in the future?"

Logan seemed surprised by this, not expecting the question from her. He shrugged. "They survive. By the time I met 'em, they're X-Men." Logan's quiet for a moment, before continuing, his voice taking an almost hesitant turn. "Wanda's one of the most powerful mutants I've ever met. Close up there with the Professor. But not without a price. I've heard - the Professor told me that Wanda's powers kept growing and growing until they were out of control. Hell, she almost destroyed the mutant race as a teenager."

Wanda. Her sweet little Wanda would some day lose control and try to destroy their kind in a few short years.

* * *

Okay, so I suck at math. The twins are born of July 31, 1963 - its currently January 1973. They'd be 9.

Also Chapter 21 is the last chapter of this story and that is slowly making its way here. Meanwhile I'm going to plan a Apocalypse sequel/third one/end of trilogy?

I'm trying to think of titles (probably keeping with the angel theme here) and any suggestions would be awesome.

Also I had a plan to write a direct sequel of No Angels - which would be based off of the happy ending. Is anyone still interested in that? If not, I could always just write a little oneshot about what happens to them.


	20. Chapter 19

Heather was going to take this shower home with her.

The hot water ran down her body, relaxing each and every muscle on its way. She stood still, her eyes closed and her hands running through her hair, ridding it of the last remains of shampoo suds. She let out a happy hum, coming to the conclusion that if every shower in France was like this one, America would have a lot of catching up to do.

With her muscles loose and her mind now less groggy, she began to think back to earlier that morning - when they had first arrived in Paris.

Charles had rented three rooms and Hank - bless his soul - had offered to watch the sleep deprived (and oh so cranky) twins, so Heather could get some sleep in a room by herself. That, however, didn't last long - as Heather recalled, Erik had showed up at her door not even five minutes later.

The two had talked for maybe an hour or two before they were kissing and one thing lead to another and - Heather laughed a little, it seemed a little funny that Erik and Heather now couldn't be near each other without sleeping together at least once.

The shower curtain opened behind her and - speak of the Devil - Erik stepped in. Though Heather bemoaned leaving the stream of hot water, she knew Erik would need to wash himself too and tried to step out of the way. But his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush to him.

"Morning," she laughed, just as he leaned down to plant a kiss on her cheek. "Good morning," He replied. Heather turned around, wrapping her arms around his neck and connecting their lips for a short but sweet kiss. "Are you ready for today?" She asked nonchalantly. Her reply came from how tense Erik suddenly seemed to be. She looked up at him in concern, his eyes revealing worry, pain, and - a little fear.

"What's wrong?"

"Nervousness," he explained bluntly, and before Heather could reply, he added, "Let's not focus on that right now. Please." He looked at her and really? How was she going to resist?

"Of course," she responded, feeling a little relief when a soft smile crossed Erik's face, replacing the fear. She smiled back, just before he leaned and captured her lips in a passionate kiss.

* * *

"So, is the war over?"

Heather glanced at Pietro, who was transfixed by the sights outside of the car window. The bright yellow and red flags seemed to be everywhere and Heather could hear the muffled bits of chanting and singing. The entirety of Paris - maybe even France - filled the streets, all rejoicing America exiting the Vietnam War.

The atmosphere outside was so different from the one within the car. Tenseness and nervousness outweighted joy, with Pietro's question being the first thing said since they had entered the vehicle. But Heather couldn't really blame anyone for being silent or nervous - after all, they were about to confront Mystique and change the future.

That was pretty scary.

"Is that why everyone is celebrating?" Wanda wondered as well. "Well, not exactly, hun," Heather explained, both of her kids looking at her in surprise and confusion, "The United States isn't involved in the war anymore, but it's still going on."

"Then why are people celebrating?" Pietro asked, sounding bewildered. Erik glanced outside, before he explained further. "Because the war is coming to an end. They're going to stop fighting for the next few days so there can be more peace agreements. That's something to celebrate, right?"

Pietro paused, pressing his lips together in a tight line, before looking away from the bright flags and saying, "I guess so."

When they arrived outside of the hotel where the Accords were taking place, they were greeted by two guards and a gate.

The guards began making their way towards the vehicle, but with a simple wave of his hand, Erik sent the guards flying into another wall and opened the gate, and Logan wasted no time driving into the parking garage. While Hank, Charles, and Logan exited the vehicle, Wanda and Pietro stayed in the back seat, almost identicial pouts on their faces.

"Mom," Pietro tried to reason, "Can't we just go in with you? We made it through the Pentagon and - "

"- and that was a one time thing," Heather interrupted, "Pietro, you and Wanda are not indestructible. I risked your lives once in the past few times and it's not happening again."

Both continued to pout, but they didn't try to protest any further. Looking around, Heather pointed to a nearby clock. "Listen, okay? If big hand reaches the 6 and we're not back, or you see a police officer walking towards the vehicle, Pietro, I want you to grab your sister and run as fast as you can. Okay?"

"Okay, mom." Heather wanted to tear up at how brave Pietro sounded, but instead she wrapped her arms around both of them and kissed their cheeks. "I love you both, so much."

"I love you too."

"Love you too, mom."

When Heather stepped back, Erik swooped in, hugging them both as tight as he could. Heather then noticed that he leaned in and whispered something in Wanda's ear, which made her giggle. After saying his goodbyes, he walked past Heather, brushing his hand against her's, before joining the other men.

"What were you giggling about?" Heather asked after she shut the door, glancing at her kids through the now rolled down window.

"Dad said something funny."

"What did he say?"

"He said something like itch liba ditch, is tud mer lied. I don't know, mom, it was really weird." Wanda giggled again, and even Heather had to laugh. As she walked towards the group, she kept thinking about what Wanda said. It was most likely German, which Wanda have never heard before. The first part, Heather could understand - after all, Edie had said it so many times - it was I love you.

The last part, for some reason, continued to bug her. Is tud mer lied. She tried to think of the German words her brother had taught her, but those lessons never really prepared her for unscrambling something that sounded like nonsense.

Trying to forget the sentence, she followed the men into the hotel, through beautiful and extragant hallways, hurrying towards where the meeting was currently taking place.

From the hallway, they could hear commotion - the sounds of a fight and then silence - and rushed towards the room. "Raven," Charles called out, and they entered the room to find Raven (in all her naked and blue glory) on top of a table, pointing a gun at Trask. Her calm, collected mask cracked for a second when she saw them all, a look of confusion washing over her, before the man on the ground shot her with a taser. Charles called out her name again in fear and Erik waved his hand angrily, the ends of taser flying to the man's neck and leaving him shaking on the ground.

"Charles?"

"We've come for you," Charles stated, in a soft and teary voice that Heather hadn't heard in years. "Erik and I. Together." The two continued to talk to each to each other and - and everything was over, but something wasn't right, Heather knew something wasn't right.

Suddenly, Logan was panting and the gun was flying towards Erik.

Heather's hand whipped around to look at him in shock, as Raven raised her head, a happy expression changing into a terrified and bewildered look. "Erik?"

Is tud mer lied. Is tud mer lied.

Es tut mir leid. _I'm sorry._

He was apologizing.

Heather's stomach sank and she suddenly felt so very cold. No, no, no, this can't be happening, she thought to herself, not again, please not again. "Erik," she choked out, but he didn't look at her, his eyes were on Raven and her alone.

"Erik? What are you doing?" Charles asked, his arm stretched out towards him.

"Securing my children's future," Erik responded in a cold, calculated voice. Raven began rising from where she had been laying, ready to start running. "Forgive me, Mystique," he continued, "As long as you're out there, they'll never be safe."

"Erik - " Hank tried, before Raven looked at Charles. "Use your powers, Charles, stop him." Charles looked physically pained and Erik calmly stated, "He can't."

Raven started running.

Suddenly, Hank ran at Erik, tackling him, just as a gun shot rang through the air. Raven crashed through the window and Heather - Heather could hear the crowds below her screaming and gasping and then - silence. Erik punched Hank, and Heather looked to Logan for help.

She found, however, the man gasping and shocking, no matter how many times she called his name.

 **CHINA, 2023**

"He's slipping! He's slipping back!"

Wanda stepped forward in horror, watching the older man writhe on the stone table. She was fearful of what was happening in the past that had made Wolverine react like this. Had something gone wrong? Was someone hurt?

"I'm losing him!"

Wanda glanced at her twin in fear. But suddenly, Wolverine went crazy. His claws extended and his arms started waving around everywhere - Kitty let out a sudden cry as one of his claws struck her side and everyone in the room lurched forward.

"Kitty!" Bobby cried out, as Magento rised his hand out to control Wolverine's metal, to still his claws and body. Kitty continued crying in pain and Wanda covered in mouth at the sight of the three deep wounds on her side. "Restrain him," Magneto commanded.

 **PARIS, 1973**

"This can't be happening."

Heather helped Charles up, her mind moving a hundred miles a minute. Erik was gone, after Raven through the window - most likely to try and kill her - but not after fighting off and punching both Hank and Charles, and leaving Heather one final sad look.

She wanted to scream and yell out the window that he could go fuck himself, but they had bigger fish to fry. Raven was in danger.

"Where am I?"

Heather glanced back Logan, who was no longer shaking but looking around wildly. "Hey, thanks for helping." She couldn't make it sound intimating or snarky, instead it just sounded tearful.

"How the hell did I get here?"

"You came to us," Charles stated.

"Who are you?"

"Charles."

Logan angrily grabbed Charles by the shirt, before Charles barked out, "Charles Xavier."

"I don't know you," he responded, an answer which confused both Heather and Charles. When a now completely beasted out Hank stood up, Logan shouted, "What the hell is that?"

Charles quickly got inbetween the two before a fight could break out. "I can deal with this. Just go, stop Erik," he told Hank, who nodded and quickly ran towards the window. "You're Logan," Charles started saying, "That's Hank McCoy. This is Heather Coleman. I'm Charles Xavier. You spend the last couple of days with us - " Charles then paused, glancing at Heather, before saying, " - You're on acid. Somebody gave you really bad acid, yeah?"

Heather wanted to laugh at how concerned and bewildered Logan looked at that.

Logan started huffing for a few seconds before he looked up at them. "Professor?"

Heather felt a little relieved that their Logan was back. "What happened?" she questioned. "I just saw someone," he breathed, "who's going to bring me a lot of pain one day." He looked around, before asking, "Where's Raven?"

"Gone," Charles said, hurrying towards the exit. "We have to get out of here." Glancing at one and other, Logan and Heather followed his lead.

* * *

So, it's been a long time.

7 months exactly.

School has been a thorn in my side, as well as getting this chapter over with.

Thank you to everyone who's read this and who keeps reading it, I'm sorry I suck at updates.

But guess what, two more chapters left until the end! Annnnnd then Apocalypse - dun dun dun.

By the way, if there's any grammar or spelling mistakes in this, it's 9 pm and I'm sorry.


	21. Chapter 20

The plane ride home was silent.

Even if Hank wasn't in the cockpit, Heather knew he wouldn't speak. He'd been humiliated when Erik left him hanging in his beast form in front of all of those people and when they had finally found him, he shrugged away from them all. Charles did nothing more than stare at the chessboard, the pawns and rooks still sprawled out from his last game, while Logan looked out the window, eyebrows furrowed in what seemed to be distress as he absentmindedly held a lit cigar in his mouth.

Normally, Heather would have no problem yelling at the time traveler to stop smoking - but she couldn't seem to find the words.

She couldn't even find the right words to comfort her children.

Pietro stared out the windows, his headphones on, but Heather could tell he wasn't enjoying his music - or even focusing on it. His thoughts were elsewhere and Heather could bet by his anguished expression that those thoughts were on Erik. Wanda had buried her face into Heather's lap and let out a few frustrated tears during the beginning of the plane ride, but had eventually fallen into an uneasy rest.

Heather's hand ran weakly through her daughter's curls, as her mind raced.

She felt like an idiot.

After all this time, after all the tears and struggles, she'd let Erik right back into her arms and had started trusting him again. And, of course, not even a day later, he tries to kill Raven and runs off - crushing anything that was starting to grow between them, between their kids. Now, once more, Heather was left to pick up the pieces.

* * *

The mansion had changed tremendously.

Of course, the structure itself was the same, but it had fallen into disrepair. Vines clung to almost every inch of it, overgrown weeds surrounded the perimeter, and the signs that used to hang in front of school were now filthy from age and exposure. The once proud and gorgeous mansion was now closer to a ruin.

Heather walked further behind the man, her attention still on what was left of her former home. She, however, was snapped out of her exploration when she heard something hit the ground and sudden loud voices.

Rushing inside, she was greeted by the sight of Hank trying desperately to pick Charles up.

"Make them stop," Charles mumbled, before Hank leaned him against the wall and sprinted upstairs. "Go to the living room," Heather said to the twins, before rushing over to Charles' side. "Hey, hey," Logan said, "Pull yourself together. It's not over yet."

Charles moved his hands away from his ears, his eyes wide and his breathing heavily. "You don't believe that."

"How do you know?"

"As these go - " Charles' shaky hand moved towards his life, before pointing at his temple, " - this comes back." A pained look came over his face, before he whined, closing his eyes and holding his hands once more over his ears, "They all come back."

Logan stood and began walking away slowly, before turning back to face them, his voice softer now. "Look. I - I'm still here. And she's still out there. We need your help, Charles. Not like this. I need you. We can't find Raven without your powers." The two shared a glance, before Hank interrupted.

"I added a little extra because you missed a dose."

Charles nearly ripped the needle out of Hank's hand, looking at it like a starving man. "Charles," Logan said, a warning in his voice, and the man looked between them all and the needle in his hand. Don't do this, Heather thought, knowing well enough that Charles could hear her. The needle pierced his skin for a few seconds before - with a look of pain - he removed it and set it down beside him. In that moment, relief washed over Heather.

"Hank, do me a favor. Would you help me to my study, please?"

* * *

"I designed this system to record any news about Paris over all three networks - and PBS."

Heather glanced around the room curiously, noting the various sized televisions, radios, and wires scattered about. It was obvious that Hank had had a lot of time on his hands to be able to assemble the contents of this room, but it was going to come in handy - it would need to, considering that even if Charles had left Cerebro with a little bit more ease, their plan to stop Raven had failed.

"All three? Wow."

"Yeah, and PBS. Look what I found."

With a click, the largest TV began to play a new clip. Within it, the dark haired reporter loudly proclaimed, "Tomorrow, in front of the White House, the President will make his announcement. He will be joined by Secretary of Defense Laird and has even sought the help of renowned scientist Bolivar Trask, his special advisor to combat this mutant issue. The White House has asked - "

"Raven doesn't realize," Charles interrupted, "that if she kills Trask at an event like that with the whole world watching..."

"Then I came a long way for nothing," Logan mumbled in defeat. "And there's more bad news," Hank added, "I saw in a report, they found traces of her blood in Paris." Heather's eyes widened. "For all we know, they already have her DNA which is all they'd need - "

" - to create the Sentinels of the future," Logan continued, looking almost sick to his stomach.

"There's a theory in quantum physics," Hank began to explain, "that time is immutable. It's like a river. You can throw a pebble into it and create a ripple, but the current always corrects itself. No matter what you do, the river just keeps flowing in the same direction."

"What are you trying to say?" Heather asked, but part of her already knew the answer.

"What I'm saying is - what if the war is inevitable? What if she's meant to kill Trask? What if this is just simply who she is?"

"So we just give up then?" Heather turned to look at Wanda, the young girl looking between them all in curiosity, but before she could say anything, Charles started speaking. "No. Just because someone stumbles loses their way doesn't mean they're lost forever. I don't believe that theory, Hank. And I cannot believe that is who she is."

"Ready the plane. We're going to Washington."

* * *

CHINA, 2023

"They've found us."

Wanda's head whipped around, looking at Charles in both bewilderment and fear. She felt her stomach drop with the realization that there was no running this time, they would have to fight.

She watched as her father and brother wordlessly left the room to join the others outside. Wanda lingered behind for a moment, glancing at Wolverine for what she hoped wasn't the last time, before whispering her final plea to him.

"Please hurry."

* * *

WASHINGTON, D.C., 1973

Heather didn't even try to force the twins to stay behind.

Maybe it made her a bad mom or a bad person but - she had no energy left to try and fight them over this. Even if she said no, the two would find some way to sneak in or find someone to say they could go. Plus this mission was hardly dangerous (well, at least less dangerous than the Pentagon) and if something went wrong, Pietro could have them out of there in a second.

"Can I see your invitations, please?"

It took a second for Heather to realize that the man was talking to her. With everything going on, the hundreds of people all conversing at once and the band, she hadn't noticed the official stopping her and searching Charles' wheelchair.

"Yes, you may," Charles replied for her, his two fingers resting on his temple, "These five are with me."

"Go ahead."

"Thank you." Charles responded before Hank began pushing him along. "You know," Heather commented with a small smile, "I forgot how much I missed that trick." Charles glanced at her and even through his sunglasses, she could tell how smug he looked.

When they found a spot to stand, Heather pulled the twins closer to her before saying, "Stay close, okay? It's a mad house right now." Both nodded in response. Wanda continued to look around at the other people and the sights in awe, while Pietro held on tighter to Heather. "What's wrong, bud?" she asked, leaning down to face her son. Pietro's eyebrows furrowed. "What if we don't find Raven, mom?"

"Don't worry, okay? Everything's going to okay. I promise. Charles is looking as hard as he can." He nodded at that, and Heather could sense that some of his nervousness was eased.

"I haven't found her yet, but she has to be here," Charles commented, just as a loud speaker announced the President. The music began playing, while people began cheering and clapping as Nixon made his way to the podium, throwing out his signature peace signs. When they finally settled down, he began his speech.

"My fellow Americans, today we face the gravest threat in our history - mutants." Heather could feel Wanda squirm at that statement and she tried to reassure her by giving her hand a squeeze. "We have prepared for this threat. In the immortal words of Robert Oppenheimer... "Behold. The world will never be the same again.""

He motioned behind him, as a curtain fell away to reveal eight gigantic purple robots. Heather held her breath at the sight, glancing towards Hank and meeting his troubled gaze. These robots would eventually destroy their race and their lives, and to see them standing before her - well, Heather was horrified to say the least.

"Raven?"

Heather looked down at Charles in shock. "I have her," he announced to them, before pointing towards the edge of the stage, "There. You see? Secret Serviceman. Left of the stage."

"Got him."

"Go."

"Stay with Charles," Heather told the twins, before following after Hank and Logan. As they hurried over, the Sentinels began, one by one, to activate and begin hovering in the air. Heather tried to pay them no mind, she had to focus on reaching Raven, but she couldn't stop looking at them. No matter how many times she tried, she couldn't look away.

Raven was only a few feet away when an official stopped them. "Gentlemen, ma'am, you cannot pass this point."

As soon as he spoke, the humming started.

Her eyes widened and she grabbed onto Hank and Logan. "Get down!"

Logan looked at her in bewilderment, just as the shooting started. The Sentinels raised their arms and began firing rapidly at the police vehicles, while people scattered and screamed in terror over the sight. The three rushed behind a vehicle to hide, before it too was riddled with bullets.

An icy weight dropped in her stomach the minute she thought of her kids. Looking up quickly, she noticed that Pietro was nowhere to be find - but she didn't have time to panic before she noticed a rush of wind behind a few of the vehicles. He was grabbing people that were trapped and rushing them away.

The relief was short lived, however, when she noticed Wanda struggling to pull Charles away from all the carnage.

* * *

CHINA, 2023

Wanda watched the jet lift into the air, the pieces being stripped off the higher it rose.

She knew that Magneto's actions wouldn't stop them - no explosion, no matter the strength or size could truly stop the Sentinels. However, it would slow them for a short period of time and allow the rest of the X-Men time to prepare themselves.

With a yell, Storm sent a large bolt of lightning towards the ship and the blast that followed was larger than Wanda imagined it would be. Seeing the incoming metal, she quickly hid behind one of the many columns, watching as her father simply raised his hands and stopped the metal in mid-air.

* * *

WASHINGTON, D.C., 1973

It took Heather a minute to realize that what hung above them was a stadium, a full sized stadium being floated through the air. For a second, she thought she was going insane but when the first bit of cement hit the ground, she knew she wasn't wrong.

Pieces of cement and metal fell from it rapidly and to her horror, she realized a large metal bar of lights was heading straight for Wanda and Charles. "No!" she screamed, trying to rush forward.

But it happened so fast.

Charles glanced up before shoving Wanda out of the way and throwing himself out of his chair. With an ugly lurch and thud, the metal made contact with the ground - right over where Charles landed. "Oh my god," Heather said, the need to throw up growing, before running to the wreckage, dodging the debris, with Hank and Logan following after, yelling for her.

Seconds later, the stadium landed around them, but Heather's attention wasn't on it.

"Charles? Charles!" She heard her daughter shrieking, before Heather herself called out, "Wanda!"

"Mom!"

She felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist and Heather pulled her daughter close to her, looking over her dirt stained cheeks. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"Mom, I'm fine, Uncle Charles saved me," she said in a shaky, tearful voice, before a note of panic began to grow, "But I need to find him, he's - "

"I'm fine!" a voice called out, "I'm not hurt!

Heather moved towards the sound of his voice, before she spotted him, bloody and covered in dust. "Nothing's broken, nothing's stabbing me," he claimed, "Go! I'll be fine!"

Reluctantly, Heather grabbed her daughter's hand and ran towards the nearest block of cement to hide.

* * *

CHINA, 2023

"Is everybody okay?"

Slowly, each X-Men left their hiding spot to assess the damage before them. Everyone looked relatively injury free, but when Wanda glanced at her father, she noticed the shrapnel sticking out of his side. He looked down at it, before letting out a pained grunt and pulling it out. She didn't have time to react to Magneto's stab wound, before a Sentinel climbed up over the edge and stabbed Storm in the back.

Wanda watched in horror as her lifeless body was then thrown over the edge of the mountain.

And suddenly, Sentinels were everywhere, climbing out from the abyss and jumping down from the peak. Pietro ran past her, trying his hardest to distract the robots, and, after taking a deep breath, Wanda joined the fight, moving her hands together before blasting a climbing Sentinel off the side of the mountain.

But it wasn't enough.

Three surrounded and overwhelmed Bishop, the man's scream echoing throughout. Even though the explosion that resulted from his death killed the Sentinels, two more quickly filled in, taking their places. Magneto moved his hands, picking the remaining shrapnel from the jet before sending it flying behind him, creating a new barrier in front of the door.

Wanda used her powers to lift one of the Sentinels and throw it into another one, before sending a blast into the one that followed. After a rapid fire of red swirls, she quickly realized that there were too many of them. The minute any of them took one out, two more seemed to appear from the darkness, ready to continue their mission.

And just as she sent another Sentinel flying, she felt a sudden pain, almost like she'd kicked in the gut. All the air left her body in that moment, and she looked around slowly for the cause before she spotted it.

The body slid off of the Sentinel's spike shaped arm and landed on the ground with a sickening thud, a thud that Wanda could hear echoe off of the hills. Its face was turned away from her, but she didn't need to see it to know. Wanda already knew - it was Pietro.

Falling to her knees in grief, she let out an anguished scream. She could feel the destruction around her but she didn't care. All she cared about was the fact that her brother, her twin, the man who had been by her side from the moment she was born, was laying dead before her. One of the only people she had left in this world was gone and it felt like she was being torn apart.

Someone helped her up and began pulling her towards the door. A quick glance to right revealed that her father was the one holding onto her, but before she could say anything, a portal opened on door, letting the two inside of the temple and sealing the others outside.

* * *

WASHINGTON, D.C., 1973

Heather hurried over to the cement where Pietro, Logan, and Hank were currently hiding behind. Hank and Logan climbed up further to see where Erik was and what exactly he was doing. "In the future," Hank asked breathlessly, "do I make it?"

"No."

Hank looked at Logan in horror, and the other man quickly added, "But we can change that, right?"

Hank gave a quick nod, before throwing his glasses down and changing into his beast form. Now growling and blue, the appearance seemed to catch the Sentinel's eye as suddenly bullets were flying towards them once more. Heather threw herself over the twins, as Logan and Hank leaped off the block to fight the robot.

Logan ducked and tried to stab at it with his claws, but the Sentinel simply kicked him away. Rising its arm to shoot at him, it was suddenly distracted by Hank jumping onto its back and biting at the wiring around its neck.

"Mom, we have to help!" Pietro claimed, but Heather held on tightly to his arm. "I'm not taking that chance, you're staying right here."

"Mom - "

"I'm not losing you!"

The robot threw Hank from its back into the broken window of a cop car and when it turned to finish him, Heather heard a soft "I'm sorry, mom" before she felt her hand close around nothing. "No, Pietro!" she stood, looking around wildly before seeing her son appear before the Sentinel.

"Hey, airhead! Yeah, you! Come here!"

The Sentinel stared at him for second before moving towards him - only to find that Pietro was now standing behind. "Too slow!"

It was confused at first, but when Pietro disappeared again, the Sentinel seemed angry and whipped its arms around. There was a scream and Heather watched her son fly straight into a wall. Everything seemed to stop in that moment, even Heather's heart. "No!" she cried out, rushing out from her hiding spot.

The Sentinel turned towards her and stepped in her path. She came to a sudden halt but before it could attack her, it started vibrating violently. Pieces began falling from it and Heather could see the reflection of red swirls from the inside of its body.

It caved in on itself within a matter of seconds and if Heather wasn't panicking, she'd be in awe of her daughter.

She ran as fast as she could to where Pietro was laying, before kneeling down beside him. Pulling him into her arms, she pressed her ear against his chest and let out a sob when she heard his heartbeat - a sound that was music to her ears. Pietro wasn't dead, he was just knocked out.

Wanda was quickly by her side. In a wobbly voice, she asked, "Is he - "

"He's fine, baby."

Heather looked at her daughter, her cheeks now not only stained with dirt but with tears. A shaky hand came to rest on Wanda's cheek, as she asked softly, "Are you okay?" The little girl nodded, her voice still tearful. "Just scared." Pulling her closer, Heather mumbled into her hair, "I am too, but everything is going to be alright." Closing her eyes, Heather wished with all her might that the whole mess would be over.

But she could hear Logan's cries as plain as day.

They were nowhere near being done.

She opened her eyes in time to see Erik lift Logan using what looked like iron beams and throw him out of the stadium, before turning back to the White House and pulling a large metal room from within it.

Ripping the entire front of the room off and pointing their own guns at them, Heather looked on in horror as, with a flit of his wrist, he positioned the still rolling cameras to face him.

"You built these weapons to destroy us. Why? Because you are afraid of our gifts. Because we are different. Humanity has always feared that which is different, but I am here to tell you, to tell the world, you're right to fear us. We are the future. We are the ones who inherit this earth and anyone who stands in our way, will suffer the same fate as these men you see before you. Today was meant to be a display of your power. Instead I give you a glimpse of the devastation my race can unleash upon yours. Let this be a warning to the world and to my mutant brothers and sisters out there, I say this. No more hiding. No more suffering. You have lived in the shadows of shame and fear for too long. Come out. Join me. Fight together in a brotherhood of our kind, a new tomorrow that starts today."

As soon as his speech was over, there was a commotion in front of the metal room, before President Nixon exited and stood defiantly in front of Erik. "You want to make a statement? Kill me. Fine. But spare everyone else."

Erik stepped closer to the man, before adding cooly, "Very heroic, Mr. President. But you had no intention of sparing any of us. The future of our species begins now."

Glancing down at Pietro, she didn't notice that Wanda had disappeared until she tried to reach over and pull her closer. She looked around wildly, but it only took a second to spot the little girl. And when she did, her eyes widened in horror.

"Wanda!"

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger but sleep is essential.

Last chapter should be coming out tomorrow or Tuesday (Wednesday at the latest).

Expect a longer, more thoughtful author's note then. Love ya. xxx


	22. Chapter 21

Wanda, with her torn skirt and skinned knees, stood tall and defiantly before her father, her little arms stretched out, as if she was enough to stop twenty bullets from striking the President.

"Wanda!" Heather wailed again. She knew - no, no she didn't. She didn't know what Erik would do. She could see the conflict slip through his stone cold mask, but the guns didn't waver. He'd gone too far many times to 'help the mutants', so would killing his own child for standing in his way even faze him?

"Wanda," his voice was stern but very soft, so soft that Heather could barely hear it, "Go back to your mother."

"No, dad," she said, her voice shaking, "I can't let you do this. I can't let you hurt him."

There were a few whispers from the group of suited men, but they quickly died down, as Erik began to look uneasy. "Wanda," his voice was stronger now, more commanding, "You don't understand. Move. Now."

Wanda looked at him and for a split second, Heather thought she'd come running back. But instead, the little girl straightened her back and repeated once more, "No."

* * *

CHINA, 2023

"Wanda, if you go back, you'll die."

If it wasn't for her heartbeat, Wanda could have been sure that she was dead. A cold emptiness had spread throughout her body, with numbness taking over and freezing her from the inside out. In her mind, death couldn't be worse then being left behind, then losing everyone you ever cared for.

"I just did," she whispered absentmindedly.

Suddenly, she left a tight grip on her wrist, pulling her closer to the ground. Wanda looked at her father - finally looked at him closely - and was shocked by the torment and horror in his eyes. "Please, don't leave me."

One person, she had to remind herself, she had one person left in the world. The thought, however, did not lessen the hurt. Still, she simply nodded and sat next to the wounded old man. Magneto let out a shallow breath, before he began. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For being a monster."

Wanda blinked, slowly looking back into her father's haunted eyes. "I hurt you and your brother so many times. And - and I hurt your mother too. I know I did. I thought I was doing the right thing for our kind - but I was only destroying my family," He glanced tearfully up at Charles, before adding, " - and my friends."

She was silent for a moment, wondering if she could ever truly forgive the man that sat before her. The man whose name she learned in her 5th grade history class. The man she cried over every night in middle school. The man who, when he met her for the first time, used his powers to bolt her to the wall of the Statue of Liberty to daggle helplessly for hours. She fought against him and his Brotherhood multiple times, the child like part of her begging him to recognize her and stop. But he never did.

Wanda knew she could never truly forgive him.

But Magneto was becoming more and more pale by the minute, and she could feel him struggling and grimancing in pain with each breath.

"Yes, I forgive you."

She could never truly forgive him, but at least she could let her father die in peace.

* * *

WASHINGTON D.C., 1973

The minute Erik turned away to look at Heather and Pietro, the President rushed forward, pulling Wanda into his arms. Heather's heart skipped a bit, her first thought being 'oh my god, he's going to use her as a shield', but watched as the man held up a gun and shot Erik.

Wanda let out a shriek as Erik collasped onto his knees, clutching his throat.

The President let Wanda go and the little girl hesitated, standing there and staring at her father in horror. Nixon, however, kept moving towards Erik before his skin turned blue and - Mystique, Mystique had been pretending to be the President. Heather watched in shock as the woman sent one judo kick to Erik's face, before turning and pointing the gun at Trask.

Wanda paused before she rushed away from her father to Heather's side. Heather threw her arms around her daughter immediately, almost crushing the girl against her chest. "Don't you ever do anything like that again, you hear me?" Heather nearly sobbed into Wanda's curls.

"Mom," Wanda said, more tears streaming down her face, "Uncle Charles says it's up to Raven now."

* * *

CHINA, 2023

Wanda could hear Bobby's screams and Kitty's sobs, she could feel every single step the Sentinels took within the room, but she didn't move from her spot beside her father.

She met the glowing eyes of the Sentinels when they finally reached them and she didn't realize she was crying until she felt the water drip off of her face. Wanda tightened her grip on Magneto's hand and closed her eyes, not wanting to see the flames.

She thought of her mother, her step father, Ana, Mateo, the X-Men... Pietro.

Wanda let out one last deep breath.

* * *

WASHINGTON, D.C., 1973

Raven dropping the gun was almost louder than any gunshot.

Heather let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding and blinked a few times in disbelief. Raven didn't kill Trask. The future was saved.

Raven reached down and pulled the helmet off of Erik's head, tossing it to the side, before calling out, "He's all yours, Charles."

Erik stood up suddenly, his eyes glazed over as he reached out and used his powers to lift the beams off of Charles. Hank hurried to Charles' side, helping him stand. At that moment, Heather felt Pietro begin to move. The little boy let out a groan, as he began to blink rapidly. "Pietro? Baby, are you alright?"

"My head hurts," he whined and Heather wanted to cry.

"I bet it does," she laughed tearfully, lightly tracing the huge bruise forming on his forehead, "It's gunna be fine, we're gunna get you to a hospital and you're be fine, I promise." Pietro sat up but his brown eyes widened and his face paled, as he nearly collasped back into his mother's lap. "Not so fast," Heather commented, before she slowly helped him lean against her.

Erik blinked a few times, before glancing over at Charles and Hank. "If you let them have me, I'm as good as dead. You know that."

"I know."

"Goodbye, old friend."

"Goodbye, Erik."

Erik finally turned to look at Heather and the children, and she could almost see the regret on his face. For a moment, she thought he'd call out to them, tell them he was sorry, tell them anything. But instead, he simply rised and floated away from the yawn, leaving them once more.

Heather closed her eyes, trying to will the disappointment and hurt away, before turning her attention back to the twins.

* * *

A/N: This was a crappy final chapter but I'm in an apartment with limited wifi and no dvd version of DOFP.

Also there's a longer author's note next, sorry.


	23. Author's Note 20

So, an explanation is in order. Around January, this story was cruising along with updates coming frequently (or as frequently as you could expect from me). But late that month, my relationship fell apart and - well - so did I.

I couldn't get out of my bed sometimes, let alone continue and write this story. I couldn't focus on anything but my anxiety and my broken heart. I truly felt like I was letting myself and the fans of this story down.

I forced myself to finish this story - not because it has so many fans but because these books are my babies. But I want to take this time to thank everyone of you for your support and love during that difficult time and for your continued support now.

There's no words to describe how much I appreciate it all.

And now here's my announcement:

I will be continuing this series. I have two books I still want to write and I have no current plans to discontinue them. These books are 1.) Calling All Angels, which is the direct sequel of No Angels; and 2.) When I Think About Angels, which is sequel of Not About Angels.

However, having just moved to a new city and (first) apartment for college, I've decided that my grades and mental health are super important - so I'll be taking a hiatus. I may release a few deleted scenes/concepts during this time, but I won't be publishing the first chapters of When I Think About Angels for a few months.

If you have any questions, feel free to message me here or on my tumblr, torsterstrudel.

Thank you all. xxx


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